


Beacon

by keeperofthekey



Category: The Girl with All the Gifts - M. R. Carey
Genre: (almost everyone at least), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Is Alive, F/F, Gen, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 48,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeperofthekey/pseuds/keeperofthekey
Summary: The chance of a lifetime, a long-awaited gift from the universe, floats down into Dr. Caroline Caldwell's hands. She is going to find the cure to the pathogen. She is going to become humanity's savior. (A reimagining and long extension of the ending of The Girl with All the Gifts).
Relationships: Caroline Caldwell & Eddie Parks, Eddie Parks & Kieran Gallagher, Helen Justineau & Eddie Parks, Helen Justineau & Kieran Gallagher, Helen Justineau/Caroline Caldwell
Comments: 19
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Helen Justineau wakes up in a cold sweat. She bolts upright, gasping for air. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Private Gallagher glancing at her nervously from the top bunk across  _ Rosalind Franklin _ , but she doesn’t care. Only one thing matters to her right now.

Her dream. Terrifying, comforting, disturbing and expected, all at the same time. Much to her dismay, the details slip through the cracks in her mind, as if she was trying to grab onto mist with her bare hands. After only a few seconds of heaving breath and grasping at straws, she can only remember one thing about the nightmare. One feeling.

At the end of it all, she was completely and utterly resigned to her fate.

And now she’ll never know what it was that she was so content with.

No matter. It’s no use mulling over useless things like dreams, not when there’s so much to do. Beacon is calling Justineau’s name, and it seems a whole lot closer now that she doesn’t have to walk.

She takes a deep breath.  _ Time to get moving, Helen.  _

But that’s when she happens to turn her head, just a tiny bit to the right.  _ A tiny figure walks out of a side street and crosses to Rosie’s door. _

Justineau doesn’t cry out. Somehow, she was expecting this. Expecting Melanie right at this very moment.

She calmly makes her way to the door, where Sergeant Parks is already standing.  _ “You’re going to have to let me handle this,” he tells her. _

“I know,” she says.

The Sergeant’s eyebrows furrow, but he says nothing.

_ I know? _ What is this? Normally, she would argue with him right off the bat, demand to see Melanie. But, somehow, she knows exactly what he’s going to say if she does. So she silently nods at him, backs out of the doorway into the lab area, unsure of why she even bothered to come to the door in the first place.

_ She turns to see Dr. Caldwell looking at her indifferently _ . There’s a horrible wrenching feeling in her chest, more than there usually is when she looks at this woman. A prediction? An instinct? She doesn’t know, but she doesn’t like it.

_ “Melanie is back,” the doctor says suddenly, coming to her feet. “Good. I was concerned she might have run off.” _

Justineau has the urge to interrupt her, right there, when she says “concerned.” But she doesn’t. Instead, she slowly turns around to face Parks, who she knows is standing behind her.

With Melanie. Parks  _ hasn’t even put her cuffs on yet, but she’s already replaced her muzzle. She’s sodden, her hair plastered to the side of her head, her T-shirt clinging to her bony body. The rain has petered out now, so this is from last night. _

_ “She wants to talk to us,” Parks says. “And I think we want to listen. Tell them what you just told me, kid.” _

_ Melanie stares hard at Justineau, then even harder at Dr. Caldwell. We’re not alone out here,” she says. “There’s somebody else.” _

The four adults settle down in the tight space of the crew quarters, ready to listen to the child. She’s wearing nothing more than a towel, as her clothes have been set up to dry by Justineau only moments before.

Tense, shifting from foot to foot, Melanie begins to speak. She starts at the very beginning of her journey, speaking in short sentences and covering every last detail. At last, at long last, she gets to the important part, the only part that means anything.

Junkers. She saw junkers.

_ No, she didn’t. _

Justineau is surprised at her own immediate response. There’s nothing, nothing at all that should be leading her to distrust Melanie in this way. She’s never been anything but honest with them, thinking every one of her words through carefully, even when they don’t want to hear it. But Justineau knows, in a very deep-seated way that tells her she’s absolutely correct, that Melanie did not see junkers today. She knows better than to blurt this out, though. She makes sure that her expression doesn’t shift and keeps on looking Melanie in the eyes.

Gallagher, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be rolling well with the news.  _ “Jesus!” he says. His voice is hollow with despair. “I knew it. I knew they wouldn’t stop!” _

Dr. Caldwell asks questions, of course. Melanie answers them quickly, covering each and every one of her bases. But Caldwell is still suspicious, clearly, or at least confused. And Justineau never liked being on the same side as Caldwell in any debate, but she’s right to be suspicious. Because there aren’t any junkers here.

“ _ What do we do?” Justineau asks Parks. _

_ “What do we do?” Gallagher echoes, unfolding from his crouch. He stares at her like she’s crazy. “We get out of here. We run. Now.” _

_ “Not yet we don’t,” Parks says. _ He explains that it would be better to roll out on Rosie than to walk, even if it takes him an extra hour or so to get her running. They argue, they glare at each other, but they eventually make a plan. Gallagher is going to tape up the windows. Melanie is going to sit in the cage. Caldwell is going to do whatever the fuck she’s doing with that massive machine in the lab. Parks is going to work on the engine.

Justineau stands in the engine room, watching Parks for a few minutes. It looks as if he’s trying to build up the willpower to talk to her. To ask her to do something, maybe. She has the feeling that whatever it is, it isn’t going to matter.

Something is going to happen. She doesn’t know how she knows it, but she does. Bile rises in her throat as the world seems to swirl around her, making her dizzy and disoriented, overwhelmed with paralyzing anxiety. She can’t speak, can hardly even move. She’s rooted to the spot in the center of the lab room.

Slowly, as if moving too quickly would stir up invisible demons lurking in the room, Justineau turns her head to look at Melanie. Melanie’s sitting crouched in the cage, looking very, very deep in thought. But when she looks up and meets Miss J’s eyes, her expression shifts. She smiles. It’s not a joyful smile. It’s a little sad, the kind of smile you make when you’re recalling memories of someone you loved who you lost a long, long time ago.

Justineau smiles back, and she thinks it’s the same kind of smile.

Carried by some unknowable instinct or urge, she looks behind her, at the window. And there, probably about a mile away, she can see a head of red hair bobbing along in the distance. She lets out a noise she didn’t even know she could make, a mixture between an agonized scream and animalistic squeal.

Gallagher turns the corner and disappears from her line of sight.

One thought tears its way through her mind.

_ If Private Gallagher leaves, we’re all fucking screwed. _

She stumbles out the door and sets off toward him in a dead run.


	2. Chapter 2

Caroline Caldwell starts as Parks bolts out the door and sets off after Justineau, screaming her name. Then, she smiles. With everyone else gone, Caldwell is left alone with the girl crouching in the cage. Test subject number one, Melanie, cries out, her voice dripping with fear of the inevitable.

For a moment, Caldwell doesn’t turn away from her work. She’s trying to calm her racing heart, but she can’t stop herself from nearly hyperventilating. She knows this is just as much from the sepsis as it is from excitement.

Because the universe has bestowed upon her a golden opportunity.

She’s going to be alone in a laboratory with Melanie for an extended period of time.

But this isn’t going to be easy, just like everything else in her godforsaken life. No, this is going to take a carefully and spontaneously crafted master plan. Caldwell’s eyes finally drift over to Melanie’s. Seeing the fearful yet calculated glare in those blue-grey eyes nearly makes her recoil. There’s only one way to put it; Melanie has speed, agility and strength on her side, while Caldwell does not. No use denying it. Force is not going to be an option.

There’s one thing she has to do first, though. She takes her time sealing the airlock, preventing anyone from entering unless she lets them in. Then she works out exactly how to get Rosie running (seems Parks had just finished fixing the engine). She turns all the right dials and flips the right switches, extracting them from her memory as she goes.

_ Rosalind Franklin _ is ready to go, but only two out of five people are inside of it.

Dr. Caldwell approaches the cage with the slow speed one adopts when dealing with a feral animal. She sinks to her knees in front of Melanie, who scampers away to the opposite corner of her little cell, cowering.

Caldwell lowers her voice to a warm whisper, the way you’d read a bedtime story. “You’re afraid of me.”

Melanie, of course, says nothing. Just stares, eyes wide.

“You’re afraid of me because I’ve made you afraid,” Caldwell continues. “It’s my fault you feel this way. I haven’t been honest with you, Melanie. I haven’t spoken to you the way I should have.”

The girl’s eyes narrow now, and her brows draw together. Surely, she’s searching for some explanation as to why this person she’s come to know as cold and unreasonable is suddenly striking up a conversation. Caldwell knows she’ll come to the correct conclusion eventually, but she’s hoping that by then, she’ll understand why this was necessary. 

“It’s not that I don’t think you’d understand me if I was transparent with you.” She pauses. “Do you know what that means? Transparent?”

Melanie nods.

“Exactly. You listen, and you know. You hear everything. You’re extremely intelligent. I’m afraid that if I tell you everything, you’ll cling to each and every word and understand more than I could ever even fathom. I’m afraid, Melanie.  _ I’m  _ afraid of  _ you _ .”

This gets Melanie’s attention. She leans forward a bit, not in a trusting way, but just to show that she is, in fact, part of this conversation. “You should be afraid of me. I eat people.”

Caldwell nods. “Yes. But, contrarily, I’m afraid  _ for  _ you.”

Melanie interrupts for the first time. “If you were afraid for me, you wouldn’t try to cut me up and put me in jars. That’s scary, Dr. Caldwell. That’s not right.”

“That’s not right,” Caldwell emphasizes.

Shocked, Melanie blinks. Once, twice. Her long blonde lashes flutter against her smooth, pale skin. She looks like a pure, untouched angel. In this sickening world, she’s very out of place. “Why would you do something you knew wasn’t right?” Then she pauses. “Oh.”

She’s noticed. This is the road Caldwell was leading her down. “A lot of people do things that aren’t right. I think that it can be hard to stop yourself. Do you?”

Melanie nods cautiously.

“And, sometimes, you do things before you even think about it, because you think you have to do it.” She’s struggling to mold these complicated ideas into their child-friendly forms, words that might be read from the last page of a picture book, the moral of the story. “Sometimes you might not even know whether something is right or wrong at first.”

Melanie isn’t hugging her knees to her chest any longer. She’s slowly drawing out of her curled up position, and though she still looks ready to bolt at any second, not all of her defenses are up. This is good, Caldwell thinks. This is working. But she still has a long way to go.

“And that’s why I’m worried for you. Your body, the infection inside you, needs to eat people. But you, the little girl, doesn’t want to. Have I got that right?”

“Yes.”

“That must be a lot to think about every day. It must hurt terribly.”

Another nod.

“You know, everyone has something that hurts them, even if it’s not as big as yours is.”

Caldwell anticipates the question - was deliberately leading into it, even - but it’s still a slap in the face when Melanie asks it. “Do you?”

“Yes. And I don’t like to tell anybody about it, ever. But, if it’s alright, I’m going to tell you.”

The girl is silent, but looks curious.

“A long time ago, twenty years ago…” (half of my life ago, she adds in her head bitterly) “people started to turn into hungries. Nobody knew why at first, and it was difficult for the people in charge to figure things out. Like Helen… like Miss Justineau said, a lot of the times people end up hurting each other when they’re trying to help. I think you’d know that more than anyone.” She’s dancing around the point, desperately trying to provide context, and she knows it. “They came up with a plan eventually. They built two mobile laboratories, Charlie and,” (she gestures around) “Rosie. They trained many, many scientists on how the labs worked, so they could be sent off to save the world.”

“You were one of the scientists,” Melanie guesses.

Caldwell nods, biting her lip. “I was. I trained for five months to ride on  _ Rosalind Franklin _ . They needed twelve people, so they made up a list of who exactly they wanted. They based it on… on our accomplishments, our intellect, our skill… Only the first twelve people on the list would be allowed to go.”

Melanie cuts in again. “And you were number thirteen?”

Her voice a whisper now, she says “No.” She shakes her head, trying not to let the reopening of that deep, festering wound show on her face. “No. I was number twenty-seven.”

Melanie cringes. “Oh.”

“So I didn’t get to go,” Caldwell continues quickly. “No, I didn’t. But then Rosie went missing, and, well, you heard what Sergeant Parks said about the dead man in the front seat. I suppose it didn’t go well after all. I suppose it’s better that I wasn’t allowed to go.”

“But you still think you should have been. So you work hard to show everyone that you’re good,” Melanie completes.

“Yes. Exactly.” Caldwell allows herself to be surprised for a moment, surprised at how Melanie had summarized her deep-seated anger and pain in such simple terms, probably more concisely than she would have herself.

“I want to show Miss Justineau that I’m still good. Even though I eat people,” Melanie offers, looking up at Caldwell cautiously.

She’s trying to relate. Trying to sense where this conversation is going. Caldwell smiles. “I suppose we’re not so different after all.”

“I don’t know,” Melanie says, shaking her head.

“Well, you’re a lot kinder than I am. Wiser, too.” Caldwell says this as bait, like nearly everything else she’s saying. But when the words leave her mouth, they ring painfully true.

“I’m kind to people who are kind to me. Like Miss Justineau.”

“I know.” For the first time, Caldwell allows her eyes to wander away from the cage for a moment. She feels herself fading. She needs to hurry this along. “You would do anything for Miss Justineau, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. If she was going to get hurt, I would rescue her. No matter what.”

Caldwell nods, satisfied with that answer. Here comes the even bigger issue, the one that’s more likely than anything to sway this child. Even more than Helen Justineau. And that’s saying a lot.

“I think a lot of children feel the same way you do.”

Melanie shakes her head, like she’s already thought about this a whole lot. “No. Normal children live in houses with their families, and they eat meals and play with toys. And they don’t want to eat people, not ever.”

“Not all children. Not your classmates.”

Melanie considers this for a moment, then shrugs. “I don’t think they’re there anymore.”

“Melanie.” Dr. Caldwell leans in, lowering her voice even more.

Melanie draws back a bit, the fear that had momentarily subsided rising again.

“I’m going to tell you a secret. But I think you already know.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

“There are a lot of children like you. Maybe even just around here. You might have even seen them. They don’t go to school or sit in wheelchairs, like you did. They live like regular hungries, but they’re different.”

Melanie sighs, finally broken. “I did see them. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to cut them up. But you were going to cut them up all along, weren’t you?” Her voice breaks, and she holds her head in her hands. “Weren’t you?”

“I may have to, Melanie.”

The child pauses, goes over her words one by one. “May?”

“Yes. May. There is a way, a way that all of them could live and be happy, and not have to struggle the way you do. I didn’t want to tell you, because I didn’t want to scare you. But now, I think it’s only right that I do.”

Melanie waits.

“You-”

Something clangs against the window with such force that Caldwell is surprised it didn’t break. They both start, and Caldwell rushes over, praying to no one in particular that Parks and the others haven’t returned already.

They haven’t. But what she sees is much, much worse.


	3. Chapter 3

Helen Justineau runs like the fucking wind. Her legs are pounding against the pavement in such rapid succession that she feels like she’s floating. She can hardly even feel herself breathe. Maybe she isn’t.

She can hear Parks calling her name as he chases wildly after her, but he never comes close enough to touch her. It’s the shrapnel wounds to his legs, most likely. Driven by some primal instinct, she completely ignores him.

In ten minutes, she’s around where she first saw Gallagher, so she takes a sharp right like he did. And since he hasn’t been sprinting the whole way, she can vaguely see his form outlined down the streets upon streets filled with houses and trash that block her path. He doesn’t even hear her until she’s already right up in his face, crashing into him with considerable force as she fails to come to a complete stop. Parks crashes into her less than a second later. Evidently, he was closer than she thought.

“What the hell, Private?!” she nearly screams, her voice quivering and shrill. “What are you doing bailing out on us like that? We need you!”

She feels Parks grab her by the shoulder and spin her around. “What the hell do you think  _ you’re  _ doing?” he bellows, spraying flecks of spit into her face. “You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack! You’re going to get us killed!”

“No, I… I…” She searches for the words, but can’t find any. She doesn’t have an explanation for what she’s just done. She just did it. She turns to Gallagher instead. “You have to come back. I’m not letting you wander around alone out here. You’re too young to die.”

“Exactly!” he responds, his voice just as sharp as hers. “I’m going to fucking die barricaded up in there! I can’t… I can’t… I…” His voice rises and rises until it cracks.

Justineau pulls out her gun and aims it at his head, not bothering to be subtle about it. “You’re coming back,” she demands. Her voice sounds raw and emotional, hardly even human.

Parks curses. “We don’t have time for this. We need to…” But he doesn’t know what they need to do. Nobody does. It’s the three of them against the big, cruel world that looms over their heads menacingly, and there’s nothing they could ever hope to do about it.

Justineau is just about to consider turning the gun to her own head to threaten Gallagher when she realizes. Her stomach drops.

Melanie.

She cries out; her gun clatters to the ground.

Melanie, alone with Dr. Caldwell in that big, scary lab, with nobody there to save her? What kind of person is Miss Justineau, anyway? Running over a kid in the middle of the night, abandoning another to be torn apart by a psychopath?

“Jesus! God! Shit! Fuck!” No word seems to suffice.

She turns to Parks, who looks slightly confused at her sudden emotional shift. Staring him right in the eyes, she cries out “Melanie!”

His eyes widen. He presses his lips together.

That’s when Gallagher clocks it. A tiny figure, darting out in front of him, across the road into the wilted bushes and piles of trash. There’s rustling. He makes a horrible squeaking sound and points. Parks sees it, too, draws out his gun. Justineau picks hers up.

For just a few seconds, there’s overwhelming, unbearable silence. Then it all happens at once.

They’re everywhere. Pouring out of the bushes, dropping down from windows and doors. The hungry children. Feral kids.

The funny thing (the really, really fucking hilarious thing, Justineau thinks) is that they actually pause for a moment before attacking. They look at each other, poised, waiting. Then one of them, painted on his face with intricate markings, utters a shrill war cry. It’s a swarm.


	4. Chapter 4

Melanie is quivering like a leaf in the wind, and the tree whose branches she’s normally clinging to, Miss Justineau, is nowhere to be seen. She doesn’t blame her, of course. She’s off saving Kieran, and surely being very brave. But Melanie wishes just now that Miss J would come and save her, too.

At first, she was afraid of being alone with Dr. Caldwell. Then, she was even more afraid when she started talking to her. It’s not that she doesn’t understand what the doctor is trying to do. Dr. Caldwell still wants to dissect her, she knows. She’s just trying to do it the longer and kinder way this time. Which is less frightening in the moment, of course, but will lead to the same outcome.

Melanie will be gone.

This is a very scary thought, and for a long time, she would have done anything to stop it from happening. Being gone from the world means being without Miss Justineau, and she doesn’t ever, ever want to do that.

But here’s the thing. She’s now thinking that if she, Melanie, decides not to be dissected, kills Dr. Caldwell and runs away, that might kill Miss Justineau. Because if Dr. Caldwell can’t find the cure, Miss Justineau might get bitten and turn into a hungry, which would kill her. And then Melanie would be alive with a scary and dead Miss Justineau. That seems a whole lot worse than being dead herself.

She could save Miss Justineau, just like she did in her story that feels so distant now. Maybe not in the way she wanted to, but it would still be so, so amazing. Even if nobody else knows about it.

That was the most pressing thought on her mind up until now, when Dr. Caldwell screamed and ran to the window. “What is it? What is it?” Melanie cries.

“Hungries,” gasps Dr. Caldwell. “Child hungries. They’re attacking.”

“What do I do?!”

“You don’t do anything. You stay put.”

Melanie watches as the doctor starts to pace. There’s sweat pouring out of her, and she can practically smell her from all the way over here. She’s waving her hands around wildly and making these strange groaning and murmuring sounds, interspersed with curses.

Another rock suddenly flies at the window. This time, it breaks the glass and pops into Dr. Caldwell’s head, making an awful noise. The doctor lets out a horrible scream. Melanie screams, too, and begins to shake her cage door. They’re like wild animals, the two of them. It’s like it was meant to be this way all along.

Dr. Caldwell (whose name is actually Caroline, Melanie knows. She hasn’t ever really thought about that until now.) now runs to the front of Rosie, where the man who shot himself was before. She must start driving, because the entire vehicle lurches and shakes as it starts up.

Melanie hasn’t been able to see the hungry children, as she’s too far down on the ground to see anything more than the sky out of the window. Now, she sees the clouds and the tops of the buildings start to zoom by, fast, as the mobile laboratory starts to move. Everything starts to turn very suddenly, sending a few things flying off of the table due to the sudden movement. Melanie can sense one, two, three thumps against Rosie’s side. Dr. Caldwell screams again.

They move very quickly like this for a while. Melanie thinks that the sun is starting to set, as the sky is becoming a beautifully glowing gradient of orange and blue. She drinks in every last drop, because she’s starting to make up her mind about something very, very serious.

Rosie comes to a sudden stop. Dr. Caldwell stumbles out of the driver’s room and out of Rosie’s door, visibly overtaken by tremors that make Melanie shiver just to watch. When she comes back in, there’s a very strange look on her face.

“What? What is it?”

“There’s a very big wall. Of fungus.”

“Like the stalks that come out of the dead hungries?”

“Exactly.” She takes a deep breath and turns to look again at the massive thing Melanie can’t even see. “Oh my God. This is… I mean, this is just…” Her chest is heaving.

Melanie feels a sense of urgency. She still doesn’t like Dr. Caldwell, and she wouldn’t be very upset if she were to die, but she’s the only means of getting what she needs right now. “Come over here, please, Dr. Caldwell.”

She looks like she can’t believe what she’s hearing, but she does what she’s told. She kneels down in front of Melanie again. Melanie thinks that she could break open this cage and eat her right now if she really wanted to. But she doesn’t, even though she has a very strong smell.

“Dr. Caldwell, I think I know what you’re trying to get me to do.”

Caldwell starts to stutter over her words.

“Shush,” she says sharply. This is no time for games, for mincing words. “You need my brain. You need my cells for the cure. I know you do. And I think I’m going to let you do it.”

Caldwell is silent for a minute. It’s not a normal reaction, Melanie thinks. She rubs her eyes, looks around for a moment. Then she makes a choking sound, clears her throat. “Melanie!’ she cries out. “Oh, Melanie!”

Melanie continues speaking as calmly as she can. “But I need to wear the muzzle, because you don’t have any chemical stuff, and I might try to bite you. You should probably tie me down, too.”

“Of course. Of course. Melanie, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. You need to hurry.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” She hurries to her feet, rushes to unlock the cage. The door swings open, and Melanie stands. She walks out into the open air of Rosie, looking around passively. She doesn’t feel afraid anymore. She looks at Dr. Caldwell, straight into her eyes.

And Caldwell does look afraid. She looks very afraid.


	5. Chapter 5

Eddie Parks has no idea what in God’s name is happening. All he knows is that he saw Justineau take off after Gallagher, so he took off after her. Now they’re both acting like fucking lunatics, and they’re being swarmed by about a million kids at once.

He was the first one to start shooting, obviously. Not that it makes any difference, because the little bastards are trying to claw their way up to all of their necks. He’s kicking them out by the feet and taking head shots, but he’s hardly making a dent. They just keep coming.

He hears a scream and looks over to see Justineau pinned up against the wall. She socks the kid in the face and starts unloading on the other ones all around. He leaves her to it.

Gallagher’s doing the worst of all, as usual. He’s running around like a madman and missing nearly all of his shots. Parks runs over to him and pins himself up against his back, effectively creating a being that has full 360 vision. They go to town.

He’s never had to be this violent towards this many kids at once. I mean, he’s had to shoot young hungries before, like he told Justineau back on the roof at Stevenage. But those were the regular kind of hungries, the kind that don’t take the time to size you up before digging in. This feels different, somehow, but he doesn’t think this is the appropriate time to muse about that.

Things are going as well as they possibly can until something slams down onto him and claws at his head. One of the little monsters has leapt from the top of a doorframe onto him. He can hardly see through the mess of hair that’s fallen in his face, but Gallagher finally manages to beat the thing off of him and onto the ground. He (or it) is able to scamper off before either of them can shoot.

“What do we do?” Justineau calls out, still hanging around that wall she was trapped by. Parks frantically gestures for her to come over.

“Either we run and risk drawing them to the lab, or we try to take them all down!” Parks shouts.

“We’ll never be able to take them all!” Gallagher points out. “There’s way too many!”

He’s right, most likely, but the idea of squatting in that monster of a vehicle, carefully sniping away dozens of little kids is not very appealing to Parks right now. Plus, there’s no telling what kind of bloody scenario they’re going to be wandering into with Melanie and the Doc. He’d rather just be done with the whole thing right here, but that seems pretty unlikely. The three of them continue shooting, backing their way down a street as the kids surge all around them, grabbing at them from every direction.

That’s when Gallagher suddenly cries out. Parks turns to him swiftly, afraid he’s been injured, but finds him standing there fishing around in his pocket just as casually as you would get change from your pocket at the store. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Back up!” Gallagher yells at what must be the top of his lungs. “Grenade!”

He hears Justineau go “What?” and grabs her arm to yank her out of the street as quickly as he can. Gallagher darts ahead in front of them as the explosion begins. He can hear the feral kids screaming, growling and mewling like wild cats behind him as they’re torn apart, probably by something they can’t even begin to comprehend.

They slow their pace once they’re halfway down the main road they originally took a right at. They’re all gasping for air.

“Shit,” Helen Justineau spits out. “Shit!” She’s coming to terms with the fact that they just blew up dozens and dozens of children, probably.

It’s the same with Gallagher. He groans, clutching at his hair and trembling.

All Parks can do is watch.


	6. Chapter 6

Melanie knows what Dr. Caldwell is thinking. “I’m not going to get you, Dr. Caldwell. I could, though. I could take a huge bite out of you and run away. I could join those hungry children, if I wanted to, the ones who make games, and play and laugh and have fun all day.” She pauses for a moment, shifts. “But they’re not really having fun. They’re not having fun because people are always coming along and shooting them, or throwing nets around them, or chopping them up into tiny little pieces. If there was a cure, everybody could stop fighting. So you can use parts of me to help them. And Miss Justineau.”

Dr. Caldwell’s expression is an expression she’s never seen before. She wants to hit her in the face and hug her all at the same time. She looks so horrible and so beautiful, so vulnerable and so strong. Melanie doesn’t like this. She wishes Miss Justineau were here. 

She climbs up onto the lab table without being told. Even lies down. Now she is a little scared again, feels like she’s back at the base. But she breathes heavy and deep, and thinks of Miss Justineau. She thinks of her rich, dark skin, and her long black hair, and the way her arms felt when they wrapped around her.

She can hear the sounds of Dr. Caldwell getting ready all around her. She’s washing things off and sharpening them, getting everything all nice and set up. Soon, her pale and sweating face is hovering over Melanie, looking down at her with that same intense expression. “You’re a very special girl. No girls and boys like you are going to have to suffer the way you did ever again. All thanks to you. So… good luck, I suppose.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to have to cut into your head. I don’t know whether or not you want to be awake or… asleep.”

“Asleep, please. I’m very tired.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Melanie.”

Melanie doesn’t respond. She’s smiling, because she’s still thinking about Miss Justineau, and how she’s saving her from the big bad monster.

When Dr. Caldwell drives the knife into her head, it does hurt. It feels exactly how she expected it would.

“Miss Justineau,” she murmurs. “I can do it.”

“You can do it,” Dr. Caldwell affirms.

The knife must have hit something up in her brain. Everything is in front of her, everything she knows. The cat she ate just yesterday. Walking and walking for hours with Miss J at her side. Reading with Kieran. The moment she jumped onto those two men at the base. Being wheeled into the sunlight for the first time. Sitting in her cell as Sergeant Parks yells out “Transit!” Sitting in the classroom, learning sums and history, flowers and Greek myths. And Miss Justineau smiling at her, reaching out to stroke her hair.

Her name is Melanie. It means “the black girl,” but right now all she can see is beautiful, blinding white.

She smiles.


	7. Chapter 7

“We need to hurry,” Helen Justineau urges. “We really need to go.”

But Parks and Gallagher aren’t running. They’re not even keeping up a brisk walking pace. Justineau has no idea where her sudden vitality came from. Usually, she can’t even run for more than a few minutes without needing to catch her breath. Hasn’t been able to since her 20s, at least. But now, she feels as if she could just keep on running until the end of time.

The three of them make their way down the street, Justineau sometimes taking it upon herself to pull the others along by the wrists, and sometimes just walking along next to them in silence. All of their lungs are working in sync; they breathe out and in at the exact same times, producing a strange effect. 

Justineau’s thoughts are racing the whole way. She’s completely panicking. No predictions or intuitions float their way down into her brain like they were before. She has no ideas what to do, or what to expect. She’s shaking, and the sun slipping down over the tops of buildings, plunging them into darkness, isn’t helping.

“I don’t like this,” she says. “This is dangerous.”

Parks shoots her a lethal glare, and that shuts her up. She stares at her own feet on the ground for the rest of the way.

They return to where Rosie is. Or, rather, where it  _ should  _ be. Because there’s nothing here, save for a few flattened corpses of even more hungry children, and a trail of some sort of fluid that seems to have leaked out of the back of the mobile laboratory.

“Shit!” Gallagher hisses.

Justineau’s thinking the same thing. Melanie is even farther away, even more unattainable to her now. “What do we do?” She already knows. The words are like a safety crutch for her.

“We follow the trail of the leak,” Parks says. “I guess I didn’t fix things up as well as I could have.”

Justineau and Gallagher nod, allowing him to take the lead. He’s better at this sort of thing than either of them. They walk along in silence, heads bowed, except for the few times Justineau and Gallagher fearfully glance up at each other. Justineau thinks he’s looking very, very pale, especially for someone whose face lights up bright red so often.

It’s difficult to tell how long they’ve been walking for. They pass streets upon streets which slowly become more crowded with buildings and debris. They pass hungries, too, and they’re forced to slow their pace to that dreadfully smooth crawl. It’s driving Justineau practically insane with worry and anticipation. Her palms are so sweaty that she feels as if she’s going to drop her gun again.

And then it happens. Not to her, though. Gallagher’s gun slips out of his hands just before he goes toppling onto the ground. Justineau and Parks rush over. He’s out cold.

“Goddamnit, Private!” Justineau cries out, but Parks shushes her. There’s only three hungries in the area, so it’s easy enough to take them out. Afterwards, Justineau and the sergeant stare at each, silently trying to figure out what the hell they’re going to do. Eventually, they both go for Gallagher’s downed body. Justineau helps Parks sling him over his shoulders, and they haul him over to a small alley on the side of the road. A racoon scampers out of a trash can as they dump his body onto the tiled pavement, and Justineau just barely stifles her gasp.

“Great. Just great,” Parks sighs. 

“Is he going to be alright?” Justineau asks cautiously. If the private’s dead, she thinks she might really lose it, right here and now.

“He’ll be fine. Just needs some water, some food, some rest… some peace of mind, maybe.”

“All things we don’t have,” Justineau points out.

“Very observant of you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Should we try to wake him up?”

Parks looks from the boy, who looks as if he’s peacefully asleep, to the darkened sky. “I don’t know,” he admits. “We may have to. The only way he’ll get back on top is by getting off the streets and into somewhere safe.”

“I have a feeling Rosie isn’t going to be very safe when we find it.”

Parks nods slowly, leaning down in front of Gallagher. He’s looking at him very strangely. From what Justineau can see, it’s a mixture of annoyance, affection, confusion and sympathy. He places the back of his hand up against the private’s forehead. “He feels alright.”

“That’s good. If only we had some water to splash on him.”

“That’s not the best way. Here, help me loosen his clothes up.”

She takes a knee, confused as to what’s going on, but still wanting to help in any way she can. She loosens Gallagher’s belt, his collar, and the buttons on his shirt. Then, Parks moves directly in front of him and raises his legs to about heart level. It’s a strange sight, and she would definitely be concerned as to what Parks is doing if she didn’t know what he’s attempting. “Does it increase blood flow to his brain?” she whispers.

“I don’t know. Probably. It’s just what they taught us to do.”

They wait silently, for another twenty seconds. Finally, Gallagher’s eyes slide open. He looks confused for a moment, then sits up with a gasp, the same way Justineau woke up earlier that day. “Jesus! Did I pass out, Sarge?”

“Yeah. You okay?”

Gallagher nods. “I’m sorry.”

“No time for apologies,” Parks says, standing up and offering his hand to the private. Gallagher takes it, and Justineau rises up with him. “We’ve got to get moving.” The three of them duck out of the alley and continue on.


	8. Chapter 8

Caroline Caldwell works feverishly into the night as the fluorescent lights above her head beat down upon her. She feels removed from her body, as if some external being is controlling her movements. That might be because her bandaged hands are completely numb at this point, which is not a good sign. Or, it might be because ever since Melanie started speaking, she’s felt as if she’s in a dream, bobbing along and watching events play out with no control over them whatsoever.

She hadn’t even needed to convince Melanie to give her body up in the name of science. The child had chosen it, all on her own, before she even brought it up. So she never had control over the situation, really. That’s okay. It’s still going the way she needs it to. She just needs to get through this part.

She loads up the ATLUM, the holy grail that she pined after for so many years. She slices up the girl’s brain into tiny little slivers, tinier than she’s ever been able to make them before. She does the same to the samples she collected from the singing hungry days ago. She lines her materials up. She studies everything under a microscope. Then studies it over and over again. Because she can’t believe what she’s seeing.

She was right all along. On the right track, at least. The brain cells around test subject number one… no,  _ Melanie’s  _ GABA-A receptor, where the mycelia has only partially penetrated, provide her with partial immunity from the pathogen. Because this child was born as a hungry. She’s part of the second generation. That’s why the infection takes a completely different course in these select few children. A child didn’t die when the pathogen took over; the children are the pathogen itself.

So if she’s able to take these immune brain cells and formulate them into some sort of vaccine, she’ll have an antidote on her hands, one that will provide the uninfected population with immunity to the infection. A cure. She has the cure.

She tries to cry out with joy, but the sound catches in her throat. There’s still a major problem. She needs to make it to Beacon without dying, to relay this information to the Survivor’s Council so this antidote can be produced. So the world can be saved. Seeing as she seriously feels like she’s on the verge of death, that’s going to be a lot harder than it sounds. 

Caldwell rushes to write down her findings, but due to the clumsiness of her hands, the words come out as black, ink-splatter scribbles. This isn’t going to work. All she can do is pray that the others return in time to drive Rosie to Beacon, because she sure as hell can’t do it in this state.

She refuses to sit down. If she sits down, she might close her eyes, and she knows what will happen if she resigns herself like that. Goodbye to the world. Goodbye to humanity. So she stands in the middle of the lab, leaning against the table with the scalpless, deceased child behind her. She looks down and sees that her lab coat and bandages are caked with thick, dripping blood. That’s not very appealing to look at, so she looks out the window instead, into the dangerously dark world.

Her brain is still working at a million miles an hour, refusing to let her rest. She realizes something that she doesn’t particularly feel like realizing.

She easily could have collected those cell samples without killing Melanie.

She hears a strange noise, a low, drawn-out, gasping whine. She jumps. It takes her a moment to realize that she's the one who made the noise. It's silly, really. She’s not opposed to dissecting dangerous beings such as the second generation children (as she now calls them) in the name of science, but she was never the type of person to take lives for no reason whatsoever. At least, she doesn’t want to be that type of person. But that ship might already have sailed.

There’s good news, though. She hasn’t lied to Melanie, because now she really won’t have to take the lives of any more children like her. All she’ll need to do is carefully cut into the side of the head and extract the tiny pieces she needs. They’ll be fine after the procedure, just like the brain surgery people would have before the Breakdown. Melanie really is the savior of the world and of her own kind, then. How poetic.

And then there’s Caldwell. This is just what she always wanted. When the world pulls itself back together again, she’ll surely be in the history textbooks, even when she’s long gone. She’ll be known as the genius mind who saved humanity from doom. The one who kept cool, calm and collected in the face of horrifying situations. But when she looks down at herself and the dead child behind her, that’s not how she feels.

She doesn’t feel like a savior at all. She feels awful.


	9. Chapter 9

“What the hell is that?” Kieran Gallagher yelps. Then he repeats himself, his voice even higher this time, even more shrill. Helen Justineau and Sergeant Parks stand and stare in silent amazement. And disgust.

It’s a massive, natural wall. It’s made out of the same stuff that sprouts from the chests of the fruiting hungries, that sickly greyish white mass. This stuff, though, stretches far higher into the sky, climbing up the sides of buildings and nearly blocking out the sun. It’s completely horrible and very fascinating all at the same time.

The three of them are standing and looking at it now from a distance; Justineau guesses they’ll reach it in about seven minutes. But she doesn’t care about reaching the wall. Not at all. What she wants to do - no,  _ needs  _ to do - as soon as possible is reach Rosalind Franklin. She can see it from here, too, just in front of the wall. Seems that Caroline Caldwell encountered some difficulties during her escape.

A part of her is screaming at her to break into a run, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to pick up her heart rate for fear that she’ll pass out cold on the ground, just like Gallagher did. She can’t afford to do that. Not when they’re standing right here, having absolutely no idea what they’re about to walk into.

Mouth dry, she looks over at Parks. He’s got his hand on his gun and a hardened expression. She knows him well enough to know that if she bothers him or tries to start an argument, he’ll either lash out or shut down. Justineau needs him on her side right now. Desperately.

They pick up their pace when they come within a hundred yards of the monster lab. Justineau starts running without thinking about it, feeling as if the logical part of her brain is currently very, very far removed from the rest of her. Rosie’s blinds are pulled shut, and she makes a beeline for the door.

Parks juxtaposes himself in between her hand and the handle of the door she’s reaching out for. He shoots her an unreadable look. Maybe he’s trying to look fierce, and the scar certainly adds to that impression. But there’s something else, underneath it all. Could it be fear? Apprehension? It’s hard to tell.

His hand placed firmly on his gun, Parks pushes open the door and rushes inside.

And gasps.

“Jesus Christ.” His voice is thick and hoarse. 

Justineau shoves past Private Gallagher, inserts herself beside Parks.

It takes her eyes a moment to accept what she’s seeing, to even begin to process it.

The world swirls, begins to crumble, and crashes down around her. The seams of the universe, the very fabric of her being, is torn to shreds, right then and there. Nothing else in the world could be this bad. Neither she nor anyone else will ever witness something so utterly horrible.

She opens her mouth to scream her name, Melanie. Melanie, the girl who’s lying on the lab table, just as sweetly and innocently as if she’s taking a nap. The girl whose forehead is smeared with blood from her removed scalp, whose insides have been scraped out raw. The girl whose brain is sitting on the table next to her, sliced up in thin, delicate slivers. The one girl who stares up at Justineau so lovingly, the one who devours every word she speaks. The one who shakes and weeps because she’s trying so hard to control herself out of pure love. The one who opens her arms wide, relinquishing her trust and heart so she can be held, if only for a moment. The only person, the only thing that matters in the entire fucking world. Her Melanie.

But when she tries to scream her name, nothing comes out.

Her eyes are glued to this corpse that doesn’t look very much like a corpse at all. It’s the same pale skin, the same blonde fuzz that was just beginning to come in on her arms and her legs. The only thing that’s different is the gaping hole in her head.

Helen Justineau knows this will be one of those moments she will never forget. It’ll be burned into her mind forever, no matter what she does. Just like the broken boy on the side of the road. Just like the alley full of children she just watched explode. It’s her fault again, too. She’s irredeemable.

Eyes still glued to this scene, she reaches for her gun. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do with it, exactly. Probably, she’s going to shoot herself. But, then again, she’d like to take Caroline Caldwell (who’s slowly sliding down into a crouching position on the opposite wall, covered in blood) with her. Maybe Parks and Gallagher, too, for good measure. They may be the only four people left on planet Earth, so she might as well get this whole humanity over with. Especially since there’s nothing of value left here anymore. Everything mankind worked towards for thousands and thousands of years, gone in an instant.

She pulls out the gun. Parks easily knocks it out of her hands onto the floor within the second, and she doesn’t move to pick it up. Gallagher’s the only one who’s making any noise at all. With every breath, he makes almost inaudible noises of pure terror. But everything else is silent, and it feels like things will just go on like this until the end of time. Maybe this impasse is the way it was meant to end.

Parks is the first one to make a move. As soon as he takes a step, though, Gallagher darts into the sleeping quarters. This is followed by a loud bang, and there’s no noise after that, as far as Justineau can tell. The sergeant approaches the lab table, hovers over Melanie for a moment, almost as if he’s checking whether she’s still alive. He must suppose there’s always a chance, no matter how slim.

But that’s not true. There was never a chance in the first place.

He then moves over towards the doctor. His getting out of the way gives Justineau a full, clear point of view of Melanie. She doesn't step towards her, but she doesn’t look away, either. She doesn’t move an inch. She doesn’t want to. She notices for the first time that Melanie’s hands are folded delicately in her lap, not even tied up. The muzzle rests atop her face, but it’s not tightened in the slightest, and practically dangles off.

Justineau is vaguely aware that Parks is talking in low, brief whispers to Caldwell. A few minutes later, he lumbers over to the front of the vehicle. It starts up with such a lurch that it throws Justineau to the floor. And she stays exactly where she is, staring up at the fluorescent lights, and hoping that maybe they’ll burn her eyes right out of her head.


	10. Chapter 10

Something strange has happened to Eddie Parks. The moment he waltzed onto Rosie and caught a glimpse of Melanie’s mauled corpse (which he did not expect to see), it was like something inside of him switched off. The part of him that’s meant to feel sad about it. So maybe it’s his emotions, or maybe it’s his logic, or maybe it’s everything in his mind except for the things that are going to enable him to survive.

When he looks at that little monster, that little kid, he doesn’t see the girl who saved his ass on multiple occasions. Or the one who was a good scout, or the one who talked back to him in class. He just sees a corpse. That’s the only reason he’s able to walk right past the bloodied lab table the way he does.

There’s no nice way to put it: the doctor looks like she’s on the verge of death. She was standing there and doing nothing in particular when they burst in, but now she’s curled herself into a ball on the floor. She’s not crying, though, or even shaking. Just laying there, eyes bloodshot and wide open. When she sees him approaching, she blinks rapidly. He thinks that maybe that’s the greatest movement she can make to let him know she’s conscious.

He kneels down in front of her. “You’re going to tell me exactly what happened,” he says flatly.

She speaks very slowly; every syllable of every word seems to be a struggle. “I found the cure. I can…” (this next part is a particular challenge) “formulate a vaccine. I need to get to Beacon.”

“A cure,” he repeats. A couple of minutes ago, had he not encountered that bloody scene, he might have been surprised. Might have questioned her about it a little, to make sure she wasn’t pulling delusions out of her ass, to make herself feel better as she’s dying. But he doesn’t. He just nods. “We’ll get you to Beacon, Doc.” 

She finds it in herself to nod. As he gets up to start driving, her eyes travel to the body on the table. And as he moves to the wheel, he sees that Justineau isn’t looking too good, either. But that much is expected. He thinks the expression on her face is going to make his gut wrench when he remembers it later. If there is a later, of course.

It’s lucky that Caldwell was driving this massive thing around earlier, because if she hadn't set it up in advance, Parks would have no idea what he was doing. There’s the manual, of course, but he hasn’t got time for that. His strategy is one that’s always guaranteed to work with massive pieces of machinery; he pulls levers and hits buttons at random until it starts moving. It ends up working all at once, and he hears a thump from the lab area as the vehicle surges forward. He then nearly crashes straight into the brick wall of a house, or a shop, maybe, that’s in front of him, but he veers to the side just quickly enough.

This wall of fungus in the main obstacle. He considers trying to plow through it, but that seems like a shitty idea, especially after what Caldwell said about the pod things opening up and causing the end of the world. That kind of sounds like a worst-case scenario. Even worse than the one he’s already in.

So he goes around. It takes too long, but it’s his only option. He travels down streets and side-streets at random, as fast as he can make this thing go. He searches for some kind of opening for what feels like an eternity, and eventually finds one. Well, it’s not an opening, exactly. But it’s a place where the wall seems kind of thin and stringy, so he decides to take his chances.

When he drives through it, nothing happens, and nobody drops dead. That’s a good sign.

He’s out in a more open area now, and heads south. He can sort of tell where he’s going by the position of the just-rising moon, and Beacon is large enough anyway that it’s alright if he’s off by a bit. He gets Rosie rolling so quickly that things zip by at lightning speed. If they were to crash into something, that might actually cause some sort of problem. But he doesn’t. He goes on like this for a long time, his mind completely empty.

London slowly starts to peter out around him. It’s hard to tell in the dark how many buildings are around, but it seems as if the dense city slowly turns into towns, and the towns turn into outposts, and then there’s nothing but rolling fields. And the river. He refers to it simply as “the river” in his head, thinking it as nothing more than an obstacle he needs to pass, its name bearing no importance. Unfortunately, he’s approaching it at such a high speed that he doesn’t really have any time to think about what to do. He aims for an apparatus that looks vaguely like a bridge. And it does turn out to be one, he thinks, even though it buckles and collapses behind them. He can tell that from the shaking.

He continues on. After a while, Private Gallagher silently approaches from behind. He says nothing, and simply sits down quietly on the floor next to the driver’s chair. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Parks for even a moment.

They must continue on like this forever. It feels like years and years. Parks thinks maybe he can feel himself aging, feel wrinkles etching themselves deep into his skin. His stomach screams out for food, and his arms ache terribly, but he doesn’t care. He’s going to keep driving until they reach their destination, or he’s going to die trying.

After a while, Gallagher suddenly bolts into a standing position. “Hummers,” he points out.

Parks hadn’t even noticed. At least twenty of the vehicles in the distance. He frantically moves to stop the vehicle, slamming and pulling levers at random until Rosie screams out and hisses, skidding sideways across the grass. Gallagher is slammed into the wall by the motion, and Parks can hear thumps coming from the lab area, where the two women lay.

Gallagher and Parks burst out of Rosie’s side door, waving to flag down the Hummers. It’s not necessary, though. They’ve been making moves to park all around the vehicle the moment they spotted it. Soon, soldiers come pouring out of the cars, fully armed, but not aiming. Most of them are young, around Gallagher’s age, and they seem to be completely in awe of what they’re seeing.

“Is that Rosalind Franklin?” he hears one exclaim in wonder.

“Can’t be,” replies another. “I swear everyone on there died years and years ago.”

_ But here we are, _ Parks thinks.  _ Despite everything, here we fucking are. _

The first man to actually approach him is one he recognizes  — Lieutenant Poole. Surveys a large group of soldiers of the Military Muster at Beacon, a group Parks used to be a part of, up until he was sent to the madhouse. This is a relief. First of all, he’s glad to have someone he knows here, and especially someone who’s generally competent. Second, and most importantly, this means that these Hummers are actually from Beacon. They can’t be more than a few miles out at this point. It’s a miracle.

“Sergeant Parks?” Poole begins cautiously. The word “what” is just beginning to form on his lips when Parks interrupts. There’s no time for formalities.

“We’ve come from Hotel Echo. Region six. Got invaded by Junkers. Drove part of the way on this, um…” (he gestures behind him) “Rosalind Franklin.”

Poole seems to be taken aback. He gapes at Parks and Gallagher, then at Rosie, shifting his gun from hand to hand. “That’s incredible. That’s, that’s really… Do you have civilians with you?”

“Yeah. We’ve got a government scientist on board. She says she’s got the cure. Says she can make a vaccine.”

Poole gapes even wider. “My God! Name?”

“Caldwell. Dr. Caroline Caldwell.”

Murmurs of recognition ripple throughout the soldiers. 

“Listen,” Parks says sharply. “She needs a medic. Pretty severe blood poisoning. I’m not sure she can make it much longer. And it’s in everyone’s best interest if she does.”

“Okay.” Poole nods to himself, surveying his surroundings, what he has to work with. Clearly, he’s formulating an action plan in his head, as quickly as he possibly can. “Owens!” he shouts behind him, gesturing to a young soldier who’s leaning against the back of a Hummer with his arms crossed. “Clear out the back, there. Lay out a sheet or something. Makeshift ambulance.” The boy rushes to follow orders, and is quickly joined by a few of his peers. 

“You, you, you, and you,” he continues, with a snap of his fingers for each person he gestures to, “We’re getting everyone out of there.” Parks and Gallagher move to follow the group into Rosie, but Poole holds out an arm to stop them. “You two aren’t looking too well yourselves. We’ll bring two cars back to Beacon. It’s not far. Burns and Dean will help you get loaded up.” He gestures towards another car, the one next to the “makeshift ambulance.”

Gallagher is quick to scurry off, but Parks doesn’t move at first. Instead, he watches Justineau be led out of Rosie, by two young women. They question her relentlessly, but she says nothing, keeping her head bowed and not resisting in the slightest. There’s a delay before Caldwell is carted out. Somehow, miraculously, she’s still walking, although she’s being physically supported by the soldiers on all sides. Parks follows that procession and goes to join Gallagher and Justineau, who are standing idly by the designated Hummer while two soldiers, presumably Dean and Burns, bicker.

“I can’t drive!” exclaims the girl. “It’s too much pressure! I’ll lose my mind and we’ll all get stuck and die!”

“You’ll be fine,” says the boy quietly. “I drove the whole way here. I’m carsick.”

“That makes no sense. How are you carsick from dri-”

They’re cut off by the Lieutenant, who yells for the first time in a booming voice that’s almost loud enough to make Parks jump. “What the hell are you doing? Get them in the goddamn car and drive!”

They scramble apart now. The girl jumps in the driver’s seat and revs the engine, while the boy throws open a side door for the three of them to climb into. There are four other young soldiers inside, but there’s just enough seats left. Justineau climbs in the very back, next to the right window. Gallagher is in the middle on the far left, and Parks sits close to the driver’s seat. As soon as he sits down, the car takes off, with the one containing Caldwell hot on their trail.

As they drive, the boy in the passenger’s seat fumbles with his walkie-talkie, through which Poole is yelling. “Tell the comms tower we’re riding back with the cure. I’ve got my hands full. Over.”

“Yes, sir! Over and out!” He smashes some more buttons, finally connects to where he needs to.

The voice on the other end is incredibly crackly and muffled, but it is a voice nonetheless. “Name and location? Over.”

“Private Isaac Burns! A couple miles out from Beacon, I don’t know where exactly, but we’re coming back. “We have Dr… Dr. Caroline somebody, and they say she found a cure! She’s with three other people, from Hotel Echo! Over!” 

“Caroline? Dr. Caroline Caldwell? Over.”

“Yes! Over!”

“Hang on a minute. Over.”

There’s silence for an excruciating five or so minutes. Parks is surprised to hear any communications at all from Beacon, but from the looks of it, what they have set up is very flimsy. It seems liable to collapse at any moment, to leave them in the dark. But finally, there’s crackling again, and the man on the other end is back. “Council says Echo survivors have top priority. Pull into Hospital Unit 3 when you arrive. Do you know where that is? Over.”

“Yes! I’ll tell the others! Over!”

“Alright. They say they’ll take it from there. Good luck, Private. Over and out.”

There’s silence. Heavy, tense silence, for the rest of the ride. Everything seems horribly uncertain. Meanwhile, Parks waits. He waits for the inevitable sinking feeling of panic and depression to wash over him. He’s almost ready for it, anticipating it excitedly, so he can just be done with it. But it doesn’t come. So all he can do is sit in silence, staring ahead passively as the fields roll by. 


	11. Chapter 11

Caroline Caldwell is going to die. She feels herself slipping away and tries to accept it. She should be ecstatic, should be able to pass away peacefully, content with her amazing accomplishment. But there’s three things preventing that.

Number one. Obviously, humans naturally have instincts geared toward self-preservation. Some animalistic part of her seems to scream and claw at the possibility of death, trying valiantly to keep her alive for as long as possible. She’s able to physically suppress this, which is why she’s lying completely still. But she’s still clinging on.

Number two. She is not content with her amazing accomplishment. She doesn’t know why, but she doesn’t exactly have the time and resources to examine this at present. All she knows is that she feels like she’s violated the laws of nature, or committed some great, cosmic error. She feels that something is very, very wrong. And she doesn’t want to die with that feeling.

Number three. Whatever these Beacon soldiers are doing is so utterly distracting that it would actually be difficult to die right now. There are far too many of them packed into this vehicle, and they’re milling about all around her in the tiny space. They’re crying out, tossing things to each other, arguing and God knows what else. At last, things seem to settle, and four faces (three young and nervous, one old and stoic) come into view. The old face speaks. “We’re going to survey your injuries. See if there’s anything we can do before we get you to some real medics.”

If she felt capable of speaking, she probably would tell them, “Unless you have a massive dose of antibiotics here with you, there’s nothing you can do.” But her mouth doesn’t open.

“Are we sure she’s not already dead?” says one of the quivering young soldiers.

“She’s still breathing, dumbass,” says another.

“What if she’s in a coma?”

The third soldier cuts in. “Blink if you can hear us.”

Caldwell blinks rapidly.

“Stop,” Poole demands. “Let’s get these bandages off.”

The four of them get to work on unwinding the bandaging on her left hand. It’s a bit of a task for them, as Caldwell redid it many times on her own while she was lost in thought. Once they’re done, they roll up her sleeve. Their faces say it all.

“Oh, Christ!” exclaims one of the boys, recoiling.

Another lets out an elongated “Ewwww!” and covers her eyes, peeking through her fingers.

“Are those her veins? The purple things?”

“It’s sepsis. Blood poisoning,” Poole exclaims. “It looks...” (he scratches his head) “pretty bad, honestly. I don’t know what they’re going to do. But I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

“Should we bandage up her whole arm instead of just the hand?”

“May as well,” agrees Poole, nodding. “Owens, go get ‘em.”

One soldier leaves and quickly returns. They get to work. She can’t even feel their hands or the bandages on her skin, which is certainly not a good sign, but soon, her entire arm is mummified. They don’t bother with the other arm. She guesses they’ve realized that gauze or bandages are not going to do anything at this point. Well, maybe shield everyone’s eyes from the ugly veins climbing their way up to her heart, but the sleeves of her lab coat do that just fine.

The soldiers don’t try to communicate with her, but they don’t leave the room, either. They’re probably afraid she’ll drop dead if they take their eyes off of her for too long, and that’s not an unreasonable assumption. The privates talk amongst themselves in low mutters, speculating what went wrong at Hotel Echo, and how Caldwell and the others found their way here. She suspects she’ll have to recount the story to the Council if she lives. There’s no telling what they’ll say, or what they’ll have her and the others do. Surely, this is a situation the court has never run into before. It’s utterly bizarre. The remnants of Hotel Echo are making history. That’s why Caldwell keeps her eyes open for the entire ride. She’s a part of this, whether she wants to be or not. The world may very well rest in her hands.


	12. Chapter 12

_ This is completely fucked up _ , Kieran Gallagher thinks.  _ Every last part of it. _ First, the little girl gets torn apart, and he gets to see her body all splayed out on the lab table. Picturing it makes his stomach lurch. And the psycho doctor has apparently found the cure, which he hardly believes for a second. That’s exactly what she’d want everyone to think, right? There’s a part of him that hopes it’s true, but it seems impossible. Now the Sarge is acting weird, too. He’s silent and stone-faced, and he isn’t reacting to anything. Gallagher is afraid. He’s afraid Parks has snapped or something, and that he’ll never be the same again. He’s afraid Beacon’s going to lock him up for being a lunatic, and probably Miss Justineau and Dr. Caldwell while they’re at it. And maybe they’ll get him, too, just for being involved in the whole thing. Everything is going to shit. He just wants to go back to the base and get into his routine again. But now there’s junkers there, and all of his friends are fucking dead.

It’s not like where he’s going is any better. He’s going to have to sit through a million excruciating trials and processes, and then he’s going to be sent back to the hellhole that is his childhood home. He’ll have to go back to living with his dad and Steve and Jackie. Back to dealing with the fighting and the stumbling around and the constant smell of liquor. And he can’t try to run away again, because last time he did that, he would have been done for if Justineau hadn’t come to stop him.

That’s why he’s crying. Not because he’s a pussy or anything. But the world is pressing down on him, hard, and he can’t do anything else about it but cry. It’s an ugly feeling. When the tears first started to well up in his eyes, he tried to brush them away, but they just kept coming. Then his face started burning, and his throat started to close up, and here he is sobbing in the back of a Humvee. He’s surrounded by a bunch of soldiers his age. They throw sidelong glances at him, sometimes sympathetic, sometimes disgusted. Nobody tries to comfort him. Of course they don’t; why would they? They have no clue who he is. To him, he’s just some stupid, sniffling kid they picked up on the side of the road.

Compared to Justineau and Caldwell and even Parks, he knows he has no reason to be this upset. He wasn’t even that close to Melanie, but now he remembers reading her stories and reaching out to hold her hand, and he cries harder. He can’t even imagine how Justineau feels. Maybe her silence speaks louder than his sobs. He really, really hopes that she doesn’t crack under all this pressure, like he is. She doesn’t deserve it.

The road becomes bumpy. Gallagher lets his body sway along to the rhythm, and it relaxes him a little bit. Hey, at least he’s alive. That’s a huge plus, and it’s more than he ever could have hoped for. He dries his eyes with his bloodied sleeves and lets out a shaky breath. Yeah. Things could be a lot worse.

Helen Justineau’s eyes are closed. She isn’t asleep, but she may as well be. She’s reliving every moment of her life in vivid detail. She’s seeing everything from an entirely new perspective. Maybe that perspective is nihilism. She should have known all along that she shouldn’t have cared. Everything was always destined to go to shit. The world is fucking cruel. Why would it give her Melanie to love and care for if it was just going to snatch her away? What’s even the point? Never in her life has Justineau been gripped with such paralyzing rage and despair. None of this is fair. She wants to bash her head against the window, but she can’t move. Is she in shock? She thinks she’s going to vomit. She doesn’t.

The others in the Humvee probably think she’s doing just fine. They probably think she’s peacefully watching out the window. But what she’s really doing is watching the hills zip by so she doesn’t have to close her eyes and see the hideous, gruesome things that are burned into them. It’s as if she’s just watched a horror movie filled with gore, but it’s her life, and it’s far worse than any movie. She won’t get her happy ending. If she wants one, she’ll have to work for it. And she doesn’t even want one. She wants to close her eyes and never open them again. She wants to never have existed in the first place. 

At this moment, she makes a promise to herself. It’s the only thing she has left now, the only control she has over her “life,” if she can even call it that. She vows to stop feeling, to stop caring, until the day she fucking dies.


	13. Chapter 13

“I think we’re here!” calls out the female soldier in the driver’s seat. “Hospital Unit 3, right?”

“Yeah, this is it,” confirms her male counterpart. “Let’s pull over and let the others go first. That doctor is way more hurt than these guys.”

The girl listens, and allows the Hummer behind them to zoom past into the lot in front of the hospital. It certainly wasn’t a hospital before the Breakdown. Parks thinks it’s probably a similar situation to Wainwright house — some sort of repurposed home for sick people. Whatever works, right?

They follow the other Hummer into the parking lot. From where he sits, Parks can see the others pull up to the door of the hospital. There’s an almost ethereal light coming from indoors, which is accentuated by the darkness of where they now sit. Figures, shadowy at first, dart out of this light and rush to the back of the vehicle with a stretcher. (Some of them are even wearing clothing that could pass for scrubs. Seems that Beacon isn’t doing as badly as Parks thought, then.) Dr. Caldwell is placed on the stretcher and wheeled inside by the medics. He sighs with relief. That’s one weight taken off his shoulders.

The thing is, he doesn’t even know why he, Justineau and Gallagher are here at the hospital in the first place. They’re not injured. At least, that’s what he thinks until he turns and sees the blood on Gallagher’s uniform, and looks down at himself. Yeah, they’re not on the verge of death, but they’re pretty fucked up. Some bedrest is probably in order after all. That’s something he hasn’t had in a long time.

Lieutenant Poole comes to fetch them, even though they’ve already stumbled out of the vehicle. “You’ve probably heard you'll be given top priority,” he informs them. “No forms to sign or anything. They already know you’re coming.”

Parks nods, and gestures for Justineau and Gallagher to follow. Gallagher is still staring at him with those concerned puppy-dog eyes, which he decides he’ll deal with later, and Justineau is lagging far behind with her arms crossed over her chest. He wishes the two of them would pull it together. Well, it’s easy for him to say that when he’s essentially become the Tin Man, he supposes.

He enters the blinding light of the main room. There's a front desk set up, but there’s nobody sitting at it. “Secretary” isn’t really a profession that’s given top priority during the apocalypse. Instead, they’re greeted by a short, middle-aged woman, who strides out of a side hallway wearing long, stained rubber gloves.

“Hotel Echo personnel, I assume?” she asks tersely.

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Council says you each get a first-floor non-priority room for the night. Down this hallway,” she says, taking off. The three of them follow. She’s surprisingly fast for someone of her height. “Helen Justineau in 106, Kieran Gallagher in 107, and Eddie Parks in 108.” She points at each respective door as she recites them. “We’ll have medics when we can spare them. Most are occupied with the doctor.” She pauses for a moment, probably waiting for someone to inquire about Caldwell’s condition. When nobody does, she says, “She’s being operated on.” More silence. “A council member is coming tomorrow to speak with you. Well, I’ve got to go.”

When Parks turns around, Justineau and Gallagher are already locked in their rooms. He sighs. It’s going to be a long night.

It’s bright in this building. Loud, too. Caroline Caldwell is lying down. It feels like she’s floating. There are grey squares moving past her vision above her, one after the other. Sometimes, she can vaguely make out what the people around her are saying. “Operate” and “antibiotics” and “hurry.” She can’t make sense of what those words mean, or where they might go in a sentence. She can’t make sense of anything. She tries to sit up, but she can’t move. It doesn’t feel like she’s floating anymore. She’s come to a stop, and she’s staring up at a single square now. She feels something in her arm. When she looks, it’s a tube. A long tube hooked up to something.  _ IV drip,  _ she tells herself. She still knows this. She isn’t gone quite yet. She’s still hanging on.

Blurriness takes over her vision, and she panics, because she doesn’t know why. Is she falling asleep, unconscious, or dead? She cries out, trying to sit up yet again.

“Shit!” somebody exclaims. She feels that prick in her arm again.

Caldwell forms the first coherent words she’s been able to in a few hours. “My research!”

“Your research?”

“The Council.” She’s happy somebody has heard her. “I need to…” But everything becomes dark, and she can’t move any longer.


	14. Chapter 14

A few hours have passed since Helen Justineau first collapsed onto this wire-frame hospital bed. She hasn’t moved an inch, and she hasn’t slept. She’s simply stared at the wall, thinking nothing and feeling completely hollow. A nurse had come in maybe an hour ago to inspect her. Justineau had unenthusiastically nodded her way through the process. The nurse had said that she miraculously hadn’t sustained any injuries more serious than a bruise. Now, Justineau wishes she’d broken a bone so she’d have something to feel. Something to focus on other than the thoughts spiraling in her mind.

After a long time, she stands up. There’s a skinny white door attached to her room, and she sees that there’s a bathroom behind it, with a toilet and a metallic sink crammed in next to each other. She uses it. When she’s washing her hands, she brushes against something cool and sharp. It’s a scalpel.

It’s funny. Maybe the universe isn’t so bad after all, Justineau thinks. It’s supplying her with the tool she needs. The tool she needs to be done with all of this.

Staring into the mirror, she holds the scalpel to her throat. She doesn’t like how she looks. She looks wild, feral, unhinged. Her eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and her hair is in disarray. She doesn’t need to look at herself any longer. None of this is going to matter in three seconds.

Three, two, one.

She presses it into her skin, but it doesn’t cut. Maybe it’s a flimsy little thing, or maybe she wasn’t pressing very hard. She tries again. And again. That’s when she starts to cry. She lets the piece of junk clatter into the sink. This is the part she hates the most, even though she knew it was coming. She doesn’t have the strength to go through with it. 

_ Melanie, Melanie, Melanie _ . Her name echoes through her mind. Her laughter, her tears, her love. Justineau doesn’t want to live in a world without that, but she has to. It’s the worst kind of life sentence, and she’s the one sentencing herself. She has to. Standing there on the tiled floor in front of the mirror, she lets herself sob for a long, long time. 

Then, she has a different sort of thought. It’s not any happier, but it’s a new angle nonetheless. She imagines Melanie looking down on her from wherever she is up there. Melanie probably wouldn’t like to see Miss Justineau like this. She would probably feel bad that her teacher is so sad that she’s gone. She would probably want her to move on and find something else to be happy about. That makes Justineau cry even harder, because she knows she’s never going to be able to do that. She tried in vain to search for purpose and meaning and joy her entire life, and then when she found it, she let it slip away. She can’t fulfill Melanie’s wishes, even in death.  _ I’m sorry, Melanie. I’m so, so sorry. _


	15. Chapter 15

Caroline Caldwell opens her eyes.

That in itself is a shock. She should be dead. She  _ watched  _ herself die. Is she in heaven? Hell? No, no. She doesn’t believe in the afterlife. If she was dead, she wouldn’t be able to ponder it. But it’s hard to tell. At first, she can’t see anything. Everything is blurry and blinding, and it takes a moment for the objects in the room to rationalize themselves into coherent forms. When they finally do, she begins to take in her surroundings. She goes little by little, drinking in one chunk of the room at a time.

She’s lying on a bed with thin blue sheets and a stiff mattress. The brightness she observed last night comes from the fluorescent lights, and the grey squares are ceiling tiles. Across the room, there’s a window, from which sunlight is pouring in. There’s a spotless white door near the left side of the room, most likely a bathroom. She was right about the tube in her arm being an IV drip. She’s surely been given a massive dose of antibiotics. Otherwise, she would not currently be alive. Even so, was that really enough to save her? She could hardly move, let alone speak. She had assumed she was a lost cause. Either way, she’s in a hospital room. That much is clear.

She swallows cautiously. She’s afraid too much stimuli will knock her back out, and she can’t afford to have that happen right now. She needs to gather her thoughts. She attempts to slow her breathing down from the shallow gasps she’s struggling with. In and out, slowly, slowly. It helps, but her heart still pounds in her chest, making it nearly impossible for her to hear anything.

There’s no time to rest. Her recovery time will be short, and she’ll be before the Council soon enough. She needs to get this vaccine produced. _ I need to. I need to. I need to. _

She moves onto the next stage of examination, the one she’s dreading the most. Her own body. Just as she begins, she realizes. The IV is not attached to the same arm it had been last night. It was in her left arm. Now it’s in her right. She feels a surge of panic.  _ Caroline, _ she scolds,  _ Don’t be silly. That’s completely innocuous.  _ She nods to herself. Yes, of course. She’s not a moron, and this isn’t a hospital drama show on television. She’s just going to have to overcome this strange aversion and take a look at her left arm.

She looks. She was right to be afraid. Horrified, she reaches to feel it with her right arm. She feels a patchwork of stitches and skin, and a surge of pain where she touched it.

_ It. _ That’s what she’s calling it. Because she doesn’t have a left arm anymore. She has a bloody stump.

As gracefully as she can, she leans over the side of the bed and vomits.

And despite how disgusting it is, she falls back asleep.

Later, the door swings open. A female medic walks in, carrying a tray of food. She lifts her foot and uses it to close the door behind her. “You’re awake,” she states, approaching the bed. She places the tray on the small table beside the bed. Caldwell bolts upright, suddenly conscious of how awful she must look. But the nurse holds out a hand warningly, clearly communicating for her to stay still.

“How long have I…” Her voice comes out hoarse and crackly. She swallows and tries again. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Not long, actually. You only arrived last night. The amputation was performed as soon as possible, and it took around 45 minutes. You’ve been asleep ever since.”

Caldwell nods slowly, taking this in. Of course amputation was necessary. She knew the antibiotics wouldn’t be enough. If they were, the dose she’d given herself on Rosie would have been just as well. She lets herself be shocked and repulsed for only a moment. It’s a bit disorienting to wake up missing a limb, but she’s going to have to get over it.

“The other arm?” she inquires tersely.

“Not nearly as bad. The wounds on your right hand had a completely separate infection. It didn’t have the time to spread as far. How did you get those cuts?”

“Gripping glass,” Caldwell mutters, not wanting to go into detail. That’s enough of the small talk, anyway. “I need to speak to the Council.”

“I know. They’ve sent a member to speak with you later today, actually.”

Caldwell flashes a thin smile. “Wonderful. And who are you?”

The medic seems taken aback. “I’m a nurse.”

Caldwell narrows her eyebrows. 

The nurse almost rolls her eyes, but not quite. “My name is Evelyn Davies. I assisted during your surgery.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Davies nods curtly. The two of them seem to be on the same page, Caldwell notices. No unnecessary small talk or flattery. “I’ll leave you to eat, then.”

Caldwell watches her as she leaves the room, waiting a careful five minutes before taking a bite. Nobody needs to see her in this state. As she eats, she notices that her vomit from earlier has been mopped up. She sighs. She should be more self-sufficient. How hard would it have been to get up, grab a towel from the bathroom, and clean it up herself? She needs to stop making excuses. God knows she doesn’t deserve it.


	16. Chapter 16

Helen Justineau has been awake for an hour or so when a knock comes at the door. She goes to wipe her eyes and finds that last night’s tears have encrusted themselves in the crevices. As well as she can without looking in a mirror, she quickly cleans herself up and opens the door. It’s the medic from last night. “Miss Grant is here. From the Council.” Justineau realizes how tense the medic looks.  _ Who is this Grant woman? _ She’s never heard of her before.

Gallagher slides into view. “Where’s Sergeant Parks? The man who was with us?” He’s visibly shaking as he says this, hands shoved in his trouser pockets.

“He’s in the main room.” She gestures for them to follow, and they do. Justineau doesn’t bother to close the door so she can run back in and slam it, if the situation calls for that. Which it probably will.

Parks is standing near what should be the front desk with a woman in a dark pantsuit. She’s all smiles as Justineau and Gallagher approach, sticking out her hand to shake both of theirs. Her grip is not too tight or too loose, and there’s not a trace of sweat on her skin despite the heat. “Are you Helen Justineau and Kieran Gallagher? It’s very nice to meet you two. Everyone here has been waiting for news from Hotel Echo for…” she inhales, smiling yet again, “well, forever, I suppose! I’m Nell Grant, by the way. I’m from the Main Table.”

“The Main Table?” Gallagher asks, surprised. Justineau shares that sentiment. She’s surprised at how young Grant is. She’s maybe even a few years younger than herself. Well, they’ve got to start letting some new faces in at some point, Justineau guesses. The Table has been full of old, white men for as long as Justinau has known. Same as the world before the Breakdown, really. The only person who didn’t fit that criteria was Brigadier Fry, a senior in the Muster. But she mysteriously disappeared along with a good chunk of Beacon soldiers a decade ago. That was after her coup d’etat, which, to her credit, lasted for a good couple of years. 

“Yes,” Grant says, humbly glancing at the ground. “To be fair, I’m mostly just the messenger. But I’ll work my way up there! Maybe get some things done, you know.” She flashes another grin. 

Justineau has to prevent herself from smiling back.

“Anyway!” she continues, adjusting herself a bit to be addressing Parks as well, “I know you’re all probably very anxious to know what the action plan is. To tell you the truth, the seniors have been working things out pretty quickly since we got the radio call last night, so I don’t know if anything I’m about to tell you is set in stone.”

“Hold on,” Parks says, holding up a hand. “Sorry. But what’s going on with the Muster? Is everything still…”

“You’ll be happy to hear that this year has actually been fairly mild when it comes to political turmoil,” she announces. “Civilian and military Council seats are currently equal. We’re not seeing too much sabotage in our future, at least for now.”

“Thank God.” Parks leans against the wall, evidently content with that.

“Wait,” Justineau interrupts for the first time. Gallagher visibly flinches at her harsh, crackly voice. She doesn’t attempt to clear her throat. “I just want to know one thing. Can I go home?”

Grant’s wide smile fades into a grimace. “Well… that’s what I was a little hesitant to bring up. You see, in these couple of years, we’ve had a lot of changes to our infrastructure. Lots of moving around.”

“Which is why comms weren’t coming through,” Parks clarifies.

“Right. We’ve actually been trying to corral masses of hungries into small areas so we can take them out all at once. With minimal success, obviously. But a lot of people had to be displaced. Anyone living in units 500-700, I’ve heard. And from what I’ve heard, that applies to you. I’m sorry.”

Justineau shrugs. She wasn’t particularly attached to her rat-infested shack. In fact, that hospital room was a hell of a lot nicer than anywhere else she’s been sleeping as of late. If only she’d gotten injured so she could stay here for a few weeks or something.

“If it makes you feel any better, nobody’s sure whether the programme is technically still running. It’s all up to the council and Dr…”

“Caldwell?” Parks offers.

“Right. Yes. Sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m… I’m bad with names.” Grant starts to stutter, but quickly composes herself. “Right. Okay. So…”

“I have an idea.” The voice comes from behind them, making Gallagher start. It’s the medic. _Has she been standing there this whole time?_

“Oh!” Grant exclaims, also noticing her for the first time. “Hello. Who are you?”

“I’m Evelyn Davies.”

“Do you run this hospital unit, by any chance?”

“No. I’m just the only one who gets anything done. You’ll have to talk to Dr. Smith for the paperwork. He’s probably in his office. Second floor, first door on the left. Knock before going in. Never know what you’re walking in on.” She makes a point of shuddering.

“Oh,” Grant repeats. She looks from Parks, to Justineau, to Gallagher, probably just as perplexed as they are by this sudden speech. “Well, thank you! You said you have an idea?”

“Yes. Whatever you’re about to say, why don’t we head to Dr. Caldwell’s room and say it there? She’s awake. That way you’ve only got to say it once. And I think she’s pretty anxious to hear.”

For a moment, Grant looks taken aback by this competent suggestion. Then she beams and says “That sounds perfect! I’m glad she’s well enough to be awake, and even to speak! You must have done a very good job.”

“We do what we can. Follow me.” She leads the four of them down the hallway to Caldwell’s room. She doesn’t knock before entering, which Justineau finds strange, but isn’t opposed to. From here, she can see that the room is at least double the size of the one she slept in. There’s even a little window on the opposite side of the wall.

She can’t see Caldwell from here. Gallagher files in first and presses himself up against the wall. Then Grant steps in delicately, making room for Parks, who glances back at Justineau, who’s still standing a few feet away from the door. He lifts his thick brows, clearly saying  _ Aren’t you coming in? _

“If you let me anywhere near her, I’ll kill her,” she says flatly.

“Helen. Don’t say that.” Using his eyes, he gestures to Grant. A Council member. Justineau could be shot for saying something like that around her, and she knows it. But Caldwell’s already got her little sabotage story up her sleeve. She’s probably going to be punished anyway, so why not go all-out while she still can? She’s got nothing left to lose. 

So Parks steps into the room without her. This gives her a clear line of sight directly to Caldwell’s bed. And she’s not at all expecting to see what she sees. 


	17. Chapter 17

_ Yikes _ . That’s the first thought that passes through Park’s mind when he sees the doctor on her hospital bed.

First and foremost, most obviously, she’s got an entire fucking arm missing. The left one has been cleanly chopped off halfway between the shoulders and the elbow. What remains has been haphazardly wrapped in gauze.

Secondly, and what might actually be even more disconcerting, is what she’s doing. 12 hours after surgery and she’s sitting up, legs crossed just as casually as ever. She’s eating an apple and staring at him with those wide, dead eyes. She looks like the deranged villain out of a horror movie. Sweeney Todd, just like he’d said once before.

Shockingly, the Nell Grant lady is the first one to speak. Not him, not Gallagher, not Justineau, who’ve known her for four years and counting. Grant. “Oh my goodness,” she mutters. 

“Oh, this?” Caldwell indicates her amputation with her free arm. “It’s nothing.” Her tone is so flat that it’s hard to tell if she’s joking.

“It’s not nothing,” says that damn weird nurse, making her presence known yet again. “You really shouldn’t be sitting up like that.”

Caldwell looks at her. It’s not quite a glare, but whatever it is, it’s intense.

Parks is silently aware of Justineau in the doorway behind him. He glances at her and, after seeing the expression on her face, wishes he hadn’t. He runs through the possibilities in his head. She can’t be sad; she despises Caldwell. She can’t be happy, though, because her face is very much not communicating that. She looks deeply horrified and apathetic at the same time, if that’s even possible. It’s not pleasant to look at. Parks thinks maybe that’s because he’s not really sure what it means to feel anymore. He thinks that maybe all of the wires in his brain are permanently fucked up forever. And he doesn’t even have an opinion to offer about it. That’s how bad it is.

“You all know each other?” Grant asks. It really does seem like a necessary confirmation, given how silent they’ve all fallen.

Parks nods.  _ Yeah, that’s one way to put it. _

“Alright, well…” Her eye flick back over to Caldwell. It seems she can’t tear them away from the severed arm. “I hope you’re feeling alright, Dr…” She trails off.

Parks almost laughs. She must have forgotten her name again.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Caldwell responds swiftly. “And you are?”

“Oh! Yes. I’m Nell Grant. I’m from the Main Table.” She doesn’t try to shake her hand.

Caldwell’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly. “That’s wonderful.”

_ Is it, though? _ Parks thinks to himself. Well, yeah, technically it’s a good thing. But, also, he has a feeling that when the Council finds out about what went on at Echo, they’re not going to be ecstatic. But they will be happy about-

“So! A cure!” Grant exclaims, clapping her hands together. She seems to have gotten over the initial shock of seeing Caldwell like this. She doesn’t even know the half of it, though. This is the first time she’s seeing her. “That’s incredibly exciting! That’s the best news we’ve gotten in a decade! How amazing, doctor!”

Caldwell doesn’t accept the praise nor deny it. She just continues to stare.

“However,” Grant continues, now addressing all of them, “We’re going to have to go through a few procedures before we can deal with all of that. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“We don’t have time for procedures,” Caldwell cuts in. “It’s important that this vaccine is produced as swiftly as possible.”

Parks knows what she’s talking about. The pods that grow out of the fruiting hungries, they could open at any second, causing the end of the world. But Parks knows better than to hope for swift solutions. Nothing in Beacon can be that easy. There’ll be long meetings, and they’ll need approval every step of the way. He imagines the world ending in the intermediate stage between finding the cure and executing it. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

“I completely understand that. If it was my choice, we’d start getting this thing produced, and all the technicalities would come after. But you know how it is. And, hey, the plan really isn’t so bad.” She pulls out a little notebook from her back pocket and flips it open. Parks can see that the stained page is covered in neat, tiny handwriting.

“So, tomorrow, all four of you will have to appear in court before the Council. They want to discuss everything that happened at Hotel Echo. It’s been a long time with no communications. From there, you, Sergeant, will be transported to the Muster’s quarters. Private, you’re going to be returning to your housing unit. Miss, you’re going to be transported to a standard civilian block. 407. Same for you, doctor, except you’ll be closer to the Council building since you’re a government official, and they need you for meetings and such. And hopefully then they’ll start to get to work on the cure once they have everything figured out. Sounds good?”

“No,” Evelyn Davies says.

They all turned to her, utterly shocked by her audacity. Parks feels like laughing again. She’s got nothing to do with this. What the hell does she think she’s talking about.

“No?”

“No. The doctor can’t be up and walking by tomorrow. She needs rest.”

“I’m fine,” Caldwell cuts in. She spreads her arms (or, arm) out in demonstration, and Parks is disturbed to see the stub of the left one raising, too. “There’s absolutely no time to waste. I feel capable of doing this by tomorrow.”

Hesitantly, Grant turns to Davies. “Nurse, I absolutely understand where you’re coming from. She can rest all she needs to after this meeting. Maybe she can even come back to the hospital. But this is important. The Council doesn’t like delays. They wouldn’t be very happy with me if I told them.”

Davies nods. “She’ll need to be very careful is all.”

“Of course,” Grant says with a sigh, probably relieved the medic didn’t raise any more objections. “That’s about it. Will you be able to provide rooms for them tonight? They’ll be transported to the Council building tomorrow morning.”

“Yes. Hardly anybody here,” Davies confirms.

“That’s perfect, then.”

“One more thing,” Caldwell says. “Miss Grant, I’d like to speak with you alone for a couple minutes.”

“Oh!” Grant looks taken aback again. Seems that’s her permanent setting. “Of course. Could you guys head out, then? I’m sure there’s a lot you want to talk about.”

Without so much as a word, Gallagher, Justineau and Davies are gone. Parks is the only one who has the sense to thank Grant before heading out. He even throws Caldwell a “Feel better,” but he doesn’t wait for her to respond.

Unsure of where to go, Parks, Gallagher and Justineau linger in front of their doors. Contrary to what Grant said, they don’t have anything to talk about. Not yet, anyway.

“Are you all okay?” Davies asks.

They’re still for a moment. Then Parks nods, even though they’re not okay. But he doesn’t have the time to get into the reasons why.


	18. Chapter 18

Nell Grant is scared out of her mind. Why, why oh why does the first real assignment she’s gotten as a member of the Main Table have to be so overwhelming and confusing? Well, she knows why. She was hired just for looks, clearly. For the Council to show everyone they still “care about young people’s voices” and whatnot. So they hired her and then immediately sent her off to the hospital to deal with the crazy survivors of a tragedy. That’s what Hotel Echo was — a tragedy!

Standing in the cramped hospital bathroom, she chews on her nails. She’s in way over her head, and she knows it. The moment she saw the doctor lying in that hospital bed, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to do this. She’s so nervous she’s forgetting names! That’s so unlike her. Now that very doctor is in that very bed only a few paces away from her. The only thing that separates them is this thin wall. She tries to steel herself.  _ Come on, Nell. You can’t lose it now. If you haven’t lost it yet, this is nothing!  _ That’s right. It’s probably nothing too horrible the doctor wants to talk to her about. She’s just never been very good at one-on-one conversations. But, now, she’s going to have to be.

She takes a deep breath and steps out of the bathroom. The doctor ( _ God, what’s her name? K something… C something… _ ) is looking at her strangely, probably wondering why she didn’t hear any flushing or water running. Even if the doctor wasn’t missing an arm, Grant would still be afraid of her. Her intense gaze makes her feel like her very soul is being scrutinized. She approaches the foot of the bed, bites her lip, and finally speaks. “So, what’s up?”

She feels herself turning red as soon as she says it.  _ So unprofessional _ , she scolds herself.  _ So childish! _

The doctor raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t make a comment. Instead, she launches straight into what seems like a prepared speech. “I demand an audience with the Main Table as soon as possible.”

_ Demand? _ That’s scary. “Oh, but you’re going to see them tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“I’m seeing the court tomorrow. The Council. I want just the Main Table, without the Muster. I need to propose my vaccine and action plan. I cannot stress enough how vital this is.”

“Yes, of course, but… I…” She can’t find the words. The doctor’s probably thinking,  _ Why’d they have to send the new girl?  _ Her blush only grows under this scrutiny. Then something pops into her head.

“Caldwell!” She’s remembered her name.

Caldwell looks around and then back at her as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “...Yes?” she responds slowly, the way you’d speak to a babbling child.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know.” There’s awkward silence. Exactly what she feared.

“Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” The way the doctor says this doesn’t even sound rude, Grant thinks. It sounds like a genuine question, because maybe she really does seem that incompetent.

“I do. I know what to do. I’ll talk to them, and we can work something out. Okay?”

“Alright.”

Grant whips out her walkie-talkie from her back pocket. It’s so massive that the pockets on all of her trousers are very ripped, but she considers this an innovation.

“Oh, right now?”

“Right now!” Grant proclaims proudly. The walkie-talkie’s only got one signal, and it’s exactly where she needs it to be. “Hello? Hello? This is Nell Grant! I repeat, this is Nell Grant! Can you hear me?”

She was expecting the signal to be very poor, so when it comes through quickly and clearly, she starts. “Um, yeah. Calm down a little, would you? You’re blowing out my eardrums.”

“Oh, Drew! Can you get me connected to Marcel and the others?”

“They said only emergencies.”

“This is an emergency!”

“Where are you, anyway?”

“Quick!” she squeaks.

She hears sighs, shuffling, and a click. “Grant?” comes a low voice.

“Yes, hello,” she responds, now working to keep her tone level. She’s quite used to undergoing full personality switches when in the presence of the Council.

“I’ve been told this is an emergency.”

“No, not really. There’s a bit of a discrepancy in the plans for tomorrow. Everything for the court meeting is running smoothly, but about the plan for the Hotel Echo personnel, Dr. Caldwell would like to have an audience with the Table as soon as possible. It’s about the cure, and it’s very urgent.”

She hears some more shuffling now, and some laughter. That’s Ellen Barnes who’s really cackling in the background. Marcel Chapman, the man she’s speaking to and the absolute authority when it comes to the Table, hushes everyone.

“I was thinking that maybe it would be good to do it tomorrow or the next day, since she’ll already be in the area.”

“Fine. Yes. We’ve got a large window of time open the day after tomorrow. Send her in at 9 AM sharp. We’re all looking forward to this cure, too. Tomorrow she can stay in 821 for a night. Anything else?”

Grant is surprised at how quickly he came up with those plans. Normally it takes a lot of arguing amongst the Council to set a date and time for anything. Well, they would all like to survive, so this particular meeting will be pretty important, Grant guesses. “That’s all. Thank you very much.” There’s a final click.

She smiles now, pleased that she’s managed to work things out. That’s typically how it goes. She crashes into everything, head-first and overconfident. Then she panics. Then she throws together a solution, and it usually ends up working. Nobody else has to know that, though. “You’ll still attend the court meeting tomorrow. Then you’ll stay in housing unit 821, and you’ll have your audience at nine that morning. I’m assuming you'll be transported to your permanent unit from there. All good?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She glances around for a moment. “Do you have any paper, by any chance?”

“Yes, actually!” Grant pulls out her notebook again. “How much would you like?”

“Seven sheets.”

Oh. That’s like a fourth of this tiny thing. She’s not going to haggle, though. She tears out the sheets and holds them out to the doctor. When their skin touches for a brief moment, Grant is surprised by how hot her skin is. It feels like she’s burning up, but no signs of this show on her face.

“Thank you,” Caldwell says again. She then reaches into the bloody lab coat that’s draped over her bedside table and pulls from the pocket a black pen. She begins to click it.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Grant says suddenly. “And I’m glad you found the cure.”

Caldwell looks at her, probably confused as to why she’s still here. She nods.

“Okay. Well, bye.” As she scampers off, the words begin to replay in her head.  _ Well, bye? _ That’s one way to end a conversation, she supposes. All things considered, she thinks things went pretty well. Now all she has to worry about is the court meeting.


	19. Chapter 19

By the time the car reaches the Council building, the sun has just finished creeping its way over the horizon. Helen Justineau is busying herself with wondering why they felt the need to hold this meeting so early. She does have a particular need to occupy herself, as being in such close proximity to Caroline Caldwell is making her feel a little violent. Plus, the ride over was very bumpy and disturbingly short. Justineau doesn’t like to think about how crowded Beacon is getting. She’s afraid they’re going to start throwing people out, claiming them as liabilities. She suspects that’s one of the reasons the Main Table allowed Caldwell her little programme in the first place. Get a bunch of bothersome scientists and soldiers out onto a remote base? Sounds great! Let’s cut all communications, too, just to scare them. Maybe they won’t even bother coming back when they’re done. But, hey, here they are.

The man  — boy, rather. He says his name is Drew — in the driver’s seat pulls up to the front of the building. “Last stop, Council building. Toot, toot.”

Gallagher is the only one who chuckles. They awkwardly thank Drew and climb out of the car. Unfortunately, he seems to be headed to the same place, as he follows them in through the main door. The Council building, Justineau knows, is one of the only structures that was actually built pre-Breakdown. Thus, it isn’t painted, and it’s easy to see that the construction is a little haphazard, but overall it manages to feel very grandiose. That’s partially because of its size. The bare wooden walls expand massively on either side, and it extends even longer in the back. Over the years, it’s accumulated what looks like four floors. Justineau thinks that’s one more than when she last saw it. This is the place where things get done, she thinks. This is the place to be.

In the large and vastly empty main room, some lower ranking Council members bustle about, some holding clipboards. They scatter when the five of them enter. One young woman, even younger than Nell Grant, hurries up to the man called Drew. “You’re kind of early,” she says in a low whisper. “Are you sure they’re going to let them in?”

He shushes her. “It’s fine,” he hisses. “Better early than late.” He ushers them into another room, straight across from the entrance door. Half of the room, the farther half, consists of a raised platform crowded with tables and chairs of every kind, not even two of them matching. Some higher-ranking officials are milling around; it doesn’t seem like they’re having any sort of formal discussion, but a few of them are clearly arguing. Justineau sees Grant off to the side, clinging to a clipboard and biting her nails off like there’s no tomorrow. This isn’t at all how she acted yesterday, most likely because she thinks nobody can see her. Why is she here, though? This doesn’t seem like the Main Table’s meeting room, and she’s a part of them, isn’t she?

Grant suddenly spots them and hurries over, staring straight at Drew through the rest of them. “Why did you bring them in here?”

“I thought that’s what they said to do.”

“No! The courtroom! Why do you think they’re here in the first place? Now go!” She takes him by the shoulders and physically turns around, marching him out of the room.

“I thought we were early!” Drew exclaims.

“Early is late to them!” Grant responds.

All of this hustling and bustling about so early in the morning is making Justineau a little dizzy. So many neatly dressed figures are darting in front of her that she can hardly believe it. She steals a quick glance at her companions, not wanting to seem concerned. (Because she’s not, since she doesn’t care about anything anymore, of course. It’s tiresome to keep reminding herself of that, but she does it anyway.) All things considered, Gallagher seems to be doing fine. He’s young enough that the high energy in this building must feel natural to him. Parks, though, seems weary, and there are dark circles under his eyes. But Caldwell looks the worst of all. She doesn’t even have that typical sickly paleness; she’s incredibly flushed and visibly trembling. She hardly blinks.

Annoyed at even having to look at the doctor, Justineau turns to Parks. “Holding up?” she says briefly.

He blinks, surprised. The two of them haven’t spoken much since they returned to Rosie two nights ago. In fact, Justineau doesn’t think they’ve exchanged more than a single word. It’s not that there’s nothing to say. In fact, there’s a lot to say. But it’s going to take the both of them a long, long time to put it into words. “Yeah, I’m alright. You?”

She nods in response and looks away, cutting the conversation short. She hates the hollowness in his voice.

They’re led down a narrow hallway, the end of which is dark. Justineau deliberately places herself at the back of their line so she won’t have to walk in and face this first. Even Parks seems a little reluctant, so Caldwell ends up taking the lead behind Drew, who opens the door.

All eyes immediately travel to the three people sitting in the center of the raised platform. They sit in three identical wooden chairs behind a dark table that was probably meant for an ornate dining room at some point. There’s a younger man on the left, a much older one in the middle, and a middle-aged woman on the right. “Here’s our little cohort,” says the man on the left in a voice like a creaking swing. “Take a seat. We’re going to be here for a while.”

“Now, don’t scare them, Benedict,” scolds the woman.

Justineau, Caldwell, Parks and Gallagher hurry to sit down at the white folding table before the platform. This feels less like a courtroom and more like being judged by the literal gods, Justineau thinks. The table is so low that it scrapes against her knees. Parks can’t even fit. And as Gallagher tries to squeeze himself in, he nearly sends the table flying. In his haste to straighten it out, Parks smacks the table against Caldwell’s one good arm. She cries out in pain. Somebody laughs, drawing Justineau’s attention to the fact that other council members are here, too. They sit scattered at various chairs and tables all across the platform. Many sit near stacks and stacks of papers. What a wonderful start to what will certainly be a wonderful couple of hours.

“Alright, then,” the old man in the middle says. “We want this to move along as swiftly as possible. First things first, you all should be aware of who you’re speaking to. My name is Marcel Chapman. This is Benedict Stinton and Jayne Hughes. As of now, we are the three seniors of the Main Table. That may be different from when you departed from Beacon five years ago, but I can assure you that all transitions of power have been peaceful as of late.” That’s a necessary clarification after the Muster’s stunt. “I am speaking to Dr. Caroline Caldwell, Miss Helen Justineau, Sergeant Eddie Parks, and Private Kieran Gallagher, correct?”

They all nod, and Caldwell says “Correct.”

“And you four are all that remains of the Hotel Echo personnel?”

“To our knowledge,” Parks says. “Others could have escaped. Slim chance, though. The junkers were brutal. Out for blood. They wanted revenge for-”

The woman, Jayne Hughes, cuts in. She speaks slowly but firmly, with a particular volume that seems to project around the room like the base loudspeakers that blasted classical music. “Please, answer our questions as we ask them. We’ll come to that in due time.”

“No,” interrupts Benedict Stinton. “Come on. Let him talk. I’m curious about the raid. Junkers? Revenge? That’s surely important.” He’s got a strange grin on his face as he says this.

“Junkers herding hungries like cattle,” Caldwell adds. Parks shoots her a look, and Justineau feels like doing the same. They’ve just been told not to continue on the subject matter. How hard can that be to follow?

Chapman ignores her. “So,” he continues in his slow, grandfatherly voice, “by some miracle, you were able to escape the raid. By what means did you accomplish this? And was it just the four of you, or did you suffer a loss of life on your way to Beacon?”

“We rode out on a Hummer,” Parks says quickly. “Broke down after a while, so we started walking.” He hesitates now, because they’re on a touchy subject, unbeknownst to the Council. Justineau understands how he feels. Looking back on those days, Melanie feels like a dark secret that must be kept. Surely the Council is not going to appreciate the idea of the four of them having been in such close proximity to a hungry. But it’s not as if they can simply omit her from history. No, Justineau thinks. Everyone is going to know about this sacrifice the little girl was forced to make. She’s going to go down in history as a hero. Not Caroline fucking Caldwell.

Slowly, she turns to Parks and nods.

“No, we weren’t alone. We were with one of the kids from the base. The hungry kids.”

Chatter erupts among the Council members, who have been silently taking notes up until this moment. Chapman bangs something on the table, and Justineau quickly sees that it’s an honest to God gavel. She has to wonder where he got it. What, did they raid an old courthouse for supplies? It’s almost sweet, the way they’re clinging to such traditions all these years later.

When silence prevails, the three seniors take a moment to compose themselves. “One of the test subjects?” Hughes eventually says. “Why? And… how? Restrained, I assume?”

“Restrained, yeah. She was more help than you’d think. And, she was… well…” he glances at Caldwell, “the Doc will tell you about her in that meeting tomorrow. The kid was pretty vital.” He hadn’t attempted to tackle the question of “why,” because frankly that would be a very difficult question to answer.

“Cause of death?” Chapman pushes, clearly wanting to move on.

They’re all silent for a moment. Caldwell glances at them, and there might even be a hint of pleading in her eyes.  _ As if she’s fucking sorry. She’s probably proud of it. _

“I utilized her brain cells to formulate the potential vaccine,” she finally says, cold and formal as always.

“She killed her,” Justineau amends, speaking up for the first time.

“I see.” The Council members write furiously on their notepads. What could they possibly have to say? They don’t even know the half of it. They won’t see it as a murder, either. They won’t see Melanie as the person she was. “And how did you find the tools necessary to do that?”

“Rosalind Franklin.”

More noise from the crowd. Like everyone else, they must have thought that the godforsaken bus was gone for good.

Stinton, who doesn’t seem at all interested in these formal proceedings, speaks up again. “See, that’s the other thing. What are the odds of stumbling across Rosie after all these years? Especially you, Dr. Caldwell.” He says her name in a mocking tone, as if it’s an insult in and of itself. Justineau can agree with that sentiment, but somehow she still finds this man annoying. Caldwell does, too. She frowns.

“It seems perfectly plausible, Benedict. Especially taking into account where Rosie went missing,” says Hughes. The two of them seem almost like rebellious son and exasperated mother. Stinton shrugs and falls silent.

They’re assaulted with question after question for the next hour. It’s slow going, and Justineau nearly falls asleep, seeing as she isn’t saying anything. Parks and Caldwell do the talking — Parks when it comes to their journey here, and Caldwell when it has to do with the base. That’s the direction the conversation is moving in once their each and every step over the past few days is accounted for. The good news is that they’re going to attempt to send a retrieval mission out to Rosie in due time. Well, maybe that’s not such good news, seeing as they’d be retrieving Melanie’s corpse. Justineau doesn’t want to see it ever again. That’s the strange thing about it. She’d always figured that when someone she loves dies, she’d want to properly bury the body. But, now, she realizes that’s all it is. A body. Not the soul that used to inhabit it.

Justineau slowly comes back from spacing out. When she does, Chapman is just moving into discussion about the four years on the base itself. “It’s safe to assume that no breakthroughs were made during that time, correct?”

“Yes,” Caldwell says. That’s one way to put it, Justineau thinks.

“Did you experience any other junker raids? Or anything else out of the ordinary?”

That’s Park’s cue. “No, sir. Business as usual for a couple years straight. We stopped the retrieval runs a year in, after we had twenty or so of the kids. We only sighted junkers in those few days before the final raid.”

“And how many kids did you cut up?” Stinton says suddenly, still wearing that massive grin. He’s looking directly at Caldwell.

“We dissected five in total,” she answers calmly. “Three in the first year, two in the fourth.”

“Mr. Stinton,” Chapman says sharply. “That is not on our agenda for today.”

“Right,” Stinton huffs.

“Now, this next question is the reason we’ve summoned you to the courtroom instead of the regular Council meeting room.” This is Hughes now. She adjusts her large stack of papers, pushes up her glasses. Justineau’s chest tightens in anticipation despite her attempts not to care. “I’m sure you all know we received a few complaints during those four years. I won’t go into detail, as I suspect those reports were sent either secretly or belatedly, but we need to know what the situation is. If there are concerns over attempted sabotage or anything of the sort, now would be the time to voice them.”

There it is. If Justineau’s going to get a gun in her face, this will be the reason why.  _ Attempted sabotage _ . The attempts to impose restrictions on physical testing, the fire extinguisher, the unprovoked assault… She’s a saboteur by the legal definition. She’s in for it. And that must show on her face, because one by one, the room turns to look at her. Caldwell last of all.

In a few seconds, it feels like hours pass. Justineau doesn’t understand what emotion she’s seeing flicker over Caldwell’s face, and that makes her all the more nervous. Is that the twitch of revenge she’s seeing? Toxic anger and indignation finally building to a crescendo?

“No,” Caldwell says. “There aren’t any concerns. There were a few misunderstandings in the past, but I can assure you that things have been worked out.”

_ What? _

Justineau can’t believe what she’s hearing. All along, this moment was doomed to be the culmination of their fraught relationship. Caldwell would let spill all of Justineau’s wrongdoings to the Council, and she’d be punished accordingly. That’s what she wanted all along, isn’t it? She’d even said so once.  _ You’ll be shot. _ Justineau can still see the words forming on her lips. So what’s going on?

The meeting drags on and on. They finally come to their conclusions. It seems that no punishments are in order, and everyone will be sent back to their homes accordingly. That retrieval mission will be scheduled sometime, too. That wasn’t so hard, see? Younger Council members slap each other on the back with a smile, happy to have everything worked out. But Justineau can’t move past what’s just happened. She thinks she’s in a dream, but not even she would dream up something this paradoxical. Back in the transportation, she’s still in a haze. She should be ecstatic. She’s going home, isn’t she? But she’s not. Not really.


	20. Chapter 20

If you were to ask Caroline Caldwell why she just did what she did, she wouldn’t know what to tell you.

Sitting in her temporary bedroom unit, this grungy, barren space, she thinks of what her answer might be. There’s a lot of maybes involved. She’s always despised maybes. When there’s uncertainty, she clears it up. That’s always been the end of it. But she’s not stupid. She understands that not everything can have such a clear, definite answer, no matter how much she wishes it so.

Maybe #1. Maybe she covered for Helen Justineau on an impulse. Maybe she froze up under the scrutiny of the Council and blurted out the answer they wanted to hear. No, that can’t be. She’s never had many qualms with causing problems when they’re necessary. People don’t like to be inconvenienced, but they often need to be. She suspects that’s part of the reason she wasn’t chosen for Rosalind Franklin. She wasn’t willing to cooperate, because she knew that wasn’t what it was about. The mission shouldn’t have been tied up in politics.  _ Stop, Caroline.  _ She knows she needs to stop mulling over this decade-old problem. It’s gone rotten. She discards it and moves on. There’s plenty more evidence against this first theory, anyways. She hadn’t “blurted out” her defense. She’d said it perfectly calmly, even taking the time to think about it beforehand, because she meant it. That is not an impulse, she knows. 

Maybe #2. Maybe she was telling the full truth. Maybe she meant it when she said that everything was just a misunderstanding, and that everything had been worked out. She can rule this theory out very quickly. There’s no denying that what Justineau had done at the base was attempted sabotage, and there’s no denying that Caldwell had looked forward to the moment she’d be punished for it. Circumstances change, though. Justineau had been acting impulsively and violently; that much is obvious. But maybe she hadn’t been acting entirely irrationally. Maybe the thing she was attempting to sabotage would have been better off if she’d succeeded.

Caroline Caldwell doesn’t fully understand this line of thought, so she abandons it. She’ll come back to it later.

Maybe #3 is a concrete, rational thought; she clings to it. Maybe Justineau is still her employee, and maybe she’ll need her for when the research programme inevitably continues. Her being shot would hinder that, wouldn’t it? That makes perfect sense. Or, it would, if it wasn’t wrapped up in so much uncertainty. There have been no discussions about the programme thus far, so it’s unclear whether or not Justineau will still be legally required to serve it. And it’s not as if she’s the only one in Beacon who’s suitable for the job. Caldwell could easily find dozens of others. She doesn’t need Helen Justineau.

Then why? Why did she defend her?

Caldwell is unceremoniously yanked away from her thoughts by the sound of a toilet flushing from above. It’s an incredibly loud sound, full of unpleasant rattling and the floods of filthy water unleashing themselves upon the pipes. She waits for it to subside the same way one waits for a storm to pass. She’s grateful she only has to stay in this building for a night. Earlier, she took a scalding shower in the cramped, dingy bathroom connected to the bedroom. Subconsciously, she’d hoped that the hot water had the power to wash away everything that had happened in the week since she’d last taken one. Of course, it hadn’t. That’s not how it works. Instead, she’d struggled through the ordeal, willing her singular arm to make up for the lack of the other. She’d scrubbed herself raw and let the water slam into her, embracing and accepting the pain as inevitable. The worst part of it, though, was the feeling of water running down her face. It reminds her of something she can’t afford to do. Caldwell hasn’t cried in ten years, not since the night Rosie disappeared over the horizon with the cheers of thousands of people. And she’s not willing to relinquish herself to that ugly feeling ever again.

Now, she sits on the floor, clicking her pen incessantly. She doesn’t ever like to sit in beds if she can help it. She knows that if one uses them for any other purposes than sleeping, he or she will have a harder time drifting off when the time comes. There’s a tiny window up high on the wall, from which she observes a steady pour of bright moonlight. Maybe, if times were different, she’d be one of those Nobel Prize winners. The ones with the ATLUMs and the grad students and a general sense of security. Maybe she’d be the one to waltz in the moonlight with her muse. If she had one, that is. She laughs aloud.

A thought pops into her mind. Maybe #4.

Caldwell is no fool. She understands and is willing to admit that her hypothesis of ego death occurring at the moment of infection was incorrect. No, Melanie and the other children were alive. She had no way of knowing it, but she cannot deny that they were alive. Correction:  _ are  _ alive. Dozens — no, hundreds, most likely — of the feral children are still living. When she said to Melanie that her sacrifice would save her kind, she was not lying. The second generation hungries, even part of the first generation, can be saved from a lifetime of suffering with an antidote. An antidote made from Melanie. Therefore, the benefits of her death far outweigh the detriments.

Melanie had a choice. Caldwell could not have performed that procedure without her consent. She was so physically weak that a scratch might have killed her on the spot. But the other children did not have a choice. If Caldwell’s hypothesis had been correct, their fear would have been nothing more than the fungal colony attempting to preserve the body for as long as possible. What it really was, though, was a child dying.

Caldwell accepts the title of “murderer.” She embraces it and bears it with grace. And now she acknowledges that she cannot continue in this fashion. She cannot hide behind her theories and hypotheses any longer. In her pursuit of the truth, she has uncovered the fact that she was in the wrong. She allows herself to feel the pain, and moves on. She will not allow herself to repeat her past mistakes. That’s not the scientific method. She will not take innocent lives.

This is maybe #4. Maybe the mental image of Helen Justineau being shot dead is not palatable. Maybe she’s not going to let any more people die because of her.


	21. Chapter 21

Helen Justineau is in purgatory. That’s how she thinks of this place, this standard civilian block in the center of Beacon. The surrounding rooms are full of the same sorts of people. The uprooted. The confused. The directionless. People with no place.

She’s curled up underneath her wire bed with its thin, stained mattress, because she doesn’t want to be forced to stare at the dim, greenish-grey walls as she sobs. She craves the comfort of darkness. In this enclosed space, she can hardly move. She doesn’t shake as she cries. She lets the tears roll down her cheeks, accepting their warmth as unavoidable.

She knows what’s happening to her. She’s a psychologist, after all. This is the depression stage. The anger is subsiding and giving way to the sadness it was attempting to stave off. She’s trapped in time, reliving fragments of the past over and over again in vivid detail. Melanie shouting at her to leave before she hurts her. Melanie crouching in a field, naked, covered in blood. The soft prickles of hair that were just beginning to show on her head. Her sad, accepting smile, the last exchange they’d ever had. Melanie, Melanie, Melanie. Justineau drowns in her memory.

This sadness isn’t as crushing as the anger was. In fact, it’s warmer, and it seems to envelop her entire being. As the hours pass, she eases into it. She tries to recall the happy memories, too. Melanie asking for Greek myths in class. Melanie laughing at her stupid jokes. Melanie singing to herself joyfully in her cell when she thought nobody was listening. These things bring a smile to Justineau’s face and make her cry harder at the same time. Every moment the two of them shared had been tied up in a complex web of emotion. Apprehension. All-consuming fear. Inescapable misery. But above all else, love. Deep, boundless love, by every definition. Justineau knows she will never love anything else the way she loved Melanie again. She knows this, and she accepts it. This is okay. What they had was tragic, but it was beautiful, and it will be preserved in her heart and in the hearts of those around her for the rest of time.

Justineau feels a wave of tranquility wash over her as her body comes to rest. The silence is peaceful. She thinks she can even hear crickets chirping somewhere outside the thin walls. An old, stale thought floats to the top of her mind. She brushes it off and reconsiders it, sees it from a new perspective.

Melanie would not want for Justineau to be sad, of course. She would want for her to move on and be happy. But, now, Justineau realizes that Melanie would not have been upset or angry with her for feeling these things. You’ve got to feel your feelings, and hiding from them is only going to hurt you in the end. The girl must have known that better than anyone. Melanie would support her through these feelings until she could come out on top again, all on her own. Justineau realizes now that Melanie  _ is  _ still supporting her through her memory, her lingering presence, and her love. She’s not alone, and she won’t be ever again.

Falling asleep under her bed, she finds it in her to smile.


	22. Chapter 22

Every rumble of the Humvee sends a jolt up Kieran Gallagher’s spine. Obviously, he’s grateful as hell that he’s allowed to get a ride from the same vehicle that will later drop off Sergeant Parks. That’s the one good thing. But it feels really weird sitting here without his gun, and with the knowledge that when he hops off, he’s not going to get picked up again. This is it. He’s going to be back in his childhood home with his dad and his brother and his cousin, like none of this insane shit ever happened in the first place. It’s not like they’ll be interested in hearing any of his wild stories. He’ll have to keep his burden to himself, the burden being the general knowledge of everything he’s seen and done over the past five years. It’s an ugly prospect.

Parks, who sits next to him, isn’t turning his head to look at him, but Gallagher can tell that he’s watching him out of the corner of his eye. He pretends not to notice, but he hates for the Sarge to see him like this. He’s probably all red and flinchy as usual. More than anything else, he’s trying to decide how to say goodbye. He doesn’t want to make it a whole depressing ordeal or anything, but, come on, they’ve spent half a decade together. And though it hasn’t even fully sunk in that he’s never going to see Parks again, he can feel his throat closing up. Parks has taught him a lot of things, way more things than his own father ever taught him. He’s his mentor.

He coughs into his elbow and sniffs to stop himself from starting to cry. That’s something he’s not going to do, not even when he’s completely alone. Nah, he’s going to be strong as hell. Because that’s what the Sarge would want to see from him.

He recognizes the terrain they’re in now. This place could almost pass for a seriously poor pre-Breakdown neighborhood. Gallagher imagines that the things that really keep it from seeming nonapocalyptic is the absence of movement. Nobody’s out walking their dogs, and no kids are out playing on their front lawns, like in stories Gallagher has heard. The Humvee he sits in is the only thing moving at all, and it will soon be gone, leaving him alone in the still world.

Before he knows it, they’re pulling up to his house. It looks just how he remembers it. One story, constructed quickly and shoddily with assorted planks of wood. A dumpy orange truck is parked outside. Inside of the chain link fence sits a white plastic table and chairs surrounded by shattered bottles of booze. Maybe they’re even the same ones that were there when he left. Surely nobody bothered to clean them up. 

At first, he doesn’t look at Parks. He thinks maybe it’s going to set him off or something, as he’s barely holding it together as it is. But when Parks claps him on the shoulder, he can’t help but turn to him. The Sergeant’s expression is unreadable. His brows are drawn together, and with his scar, he looks like a mighty statue carved out of marble. “Bye, son.”

Gallagher doesn’t say anything, because he’s afraid of what’s going to come out of his mouth if he opens it. He just nods and climbs out of the car, beginning his shamble over to his front door. But he can’t help himself. He turns around for one last glance. Parks is staring right at him. 

Gallagher straightens himself out. He squares his shoulders and plants his feet firmly together. Lifting his arm high, he rips off a salute.

Without a moment of hesitation, Parks returns it. And the Hummer drives away.


	23. Chapter 23

Caroline Caldwell stands in front of a room full of people. This is the Council building again, only this time it’s a smaller room containing only the Main Table, meaning around ten people, including Chapman, Hughes, Stinton, and Grant.

A few hours ago, Caldwell had begun with her findings. There was so much to clear up, so much disbelief rippling throughout the room. “Yes, the feral children are second-generation hungries. I have personally collected evidence that points to the first generation retaining some human qualities. Singing, caring for the young, walking without purpose… Ego death does not occur at the moment of infection as I once believed.”

“You’re telling me they’re having kids now?” Stinton had asked, his tone disgusted.

“Yes. The children are born with the pathogen, effectively making them symbiotes.”

“That’s incredibly interesting,” Hughes had said, scribbling down notes. “And certainly not something we would have predicted.”

They all mulled over this for a while. The notes she’d written down in the hospital proved especially useful. She passed around diagrams and pointed out inconsistencies in previous theories. At last, they seemed convinced of the truth. This is not the most important thing, though. She now stands in front of them, preparing to propose her antidote.

But something’s wrong. The nurse, Davies, had been right. Caldwell should not be up and walking around two days after an amputation. Of course, she knew this from the start, but she hadn’t anticipated the consequences to be this crippling. She feels as if she’s burning up. Her vision sometimes seems to swim as she becomes dizzy, and she's forced to close her eyes to regain her composure. And this entire time, her hand has been shaking. She hides it behind her back, but over time, it becomes worse. It starts in her chest, leaks down her torso into her legs and up into her shoulders, and down her one remaining arm. Cold panic washes over her as she’s engulfed by tremors. She’s unable to hide them any longer. This happens just as she’s beginning to form the word “cure.”

“Are you alright, Dr. Caldwell?” Chapman asks. 

She can’t respond at first. In a few seconds, though, her body calms itself, the tremors leaving only a few twitches in their wake. As the panic subsides, embarrassment takes over. “Yes,” she says, attempting to project her voice. It doesn’t sound quite right. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“No need to be,” Chapman says. “Carry on.”

She really could use a five minute break, but she’s not stupid enough to ask for one. She may never get this opportunity again. This is important. It could change the world. As she thinks of her research, she becomes more sure of herself. This isn’t a silly school project; she knows what she’s talking about. She is not going to mess this up.

“The cure will take the form of a vaccine, containing brain cells from the GABA-A receptor in second-generation hungries. You see, here, the fungal mycelia has only partially penetrated, which proves that this is the site containing immunity. If a person or freshly turned hungry is injected with this vaccine, they will be able to defend themselves against the infection due to the partial immunity that the cells will provide. It should only take a few minutes to work after the initial injection. Another positive is that not many cells are required to produce a large quantity of the antidote.”

“I see,” says Chapman. “That’s quite impressive, Dr. Caldwell. A catch-all cure is not something we ever would have expected. We congratulate you for that.”

“It’s just good fortune,” Caldwell says. Everyone stares at her for a moment, surprised that she didn’t accept the praise, especially from one of the most powerful people in Beacon. She probably shouldn’t have said it, but it’s true. “I mean to say that it’s good fortune that such a cure exists. I’m simply the person to uncover it.”

“That’s all well and good,” Stinton says loudly, “But how are you planning to stick a needle in a hungry’s arm? You’re just going to do it when it’s in the middle of tearing you apart?”

She’s considered this already, of course. Her offended expression comes not from being taken off guard, but from his incredibly rude tone. “I have been thinking about that very dilemma. One possible solution would be to fill explosives with the vaccine and release them into crowds of hungries. The shrapnel entering their bodies would provide them with the immunity. There are a few drawbacks, though. We would need a large quantity of the vaccine, and the groups of hungries chosen would need to be freshly-turned, or else the vaccine will not work. But it could be done.”

“That does sound like a feasible plan. As soon as Mr. Stinton brought up the idea, I was thinking of something similar.” This is Nell Grant speaking up for the first time. She sits to the far left pushed up against the wall, as if the others couldn’t be bothered to make room for her. 

“I agree,” says Hughes. “We’ll factor that into the plan. Which we still need to come up with. So what else will you require in order to produce the vaccine?”

This is the part Caldwell is the most nervous about. Five years ago she’d had to fight and nag and beg for her research programme like nobody’s business. This time, at least, there’s more feasible proof that she’ll be able to produce a useful outcome. She starts to list her conditions. “I’ll require a team of scientists to refine and produce the vaccine, and to develop the bombs when that becomes a possibility. Of course, I need an area with at least one laboratory, preferably more. And I’ll need holding facilities for the child hungries.”

“Wait. I was with you up until now,” Hughes says. “Holding facilities? Do you mean for the bodies of the children once the dissection has been performed? Will you be able to reuse them?”

Caldwell nearly laughs aloud; she can’t believe she’s forgotten to say something so vital. She’d mistakenly figured it was assumed. “Oh, no, the children will be alive and well after the procedure. They will simply need time to recover before they are released. In the meantime, I was hoping that perhaps we’d be able to educate them as we did in Hotel Echo. They made tremendous progress very quickly, and I think it will be easier to get along with them if they’re able to speak.”

Chatter erupts now. Caldwell should have known that the educational aspect is what everyone would be shocked about. Personally, she thinks the antidote containing partial immunity is more compelling, but that’s just her.

“That’s wonderful!” Grant exclaims. “Ethical experimentation! Who could say no?” Caldwell knows what this implies; the old experimentation was not ethical. She knows this now.

“Yes, that’s another thing,” she continues. She feels herself smiling, rejuvenated by the excited energy in the room. “I’d like to have a building to be used as a makeshift school. Anything that could be adapted works. We can be flexible.”

“You’re in luck,” Chapman says. “Just last week we evacuated a sector to make room for the hungry traps, but we haven’t gotten around to demolishing the buildings. There are laboratories in one of the buildings, and quite a few large rooms that I’m sure will suffice. And there are housing units in the area, too. There’s a pre-Breakdown Marriott that hasn’t been touched in years, but I’m sure it could be cleaned up.”

“That’s perfect,” Caldwell says, astounded. She hasn’t had such good fortune since… ever, really.

“For us, too,” Hughes says. “Since the hungry traps aren’t working, people would riot over being evacuated for seemingly no reason. They’re more likely to understand the excuse of saving the world, I think.”

“Certainly,” Caldwell says. Everyone in the room seems thrilled, no doubt for various different reasons, but thrilled nonetheless. This is the spirit of science and progress, Caldwell thinks, bringing people together in ways she’s never seen before.

“It will be a new research programme,” Chapman summarizes. “Hopefully the final one.”

“Hotel Echo revamped!” states a younger Table member. “Who ever would have thought?”

Hughes cuts in. “As the children are going to be educated, you’ll be requisitioning teachers as you did last time, correct?”

“That’s correct. I believe four or five will be suitable.”

“Sounds reasonable to me. Tomorrow we’ll send out a chain of communications looking for any former psychologists, counselors, or teachers we can find. We’ll bring them to this building for interviews and such, and we can then make a decision. I understand that speed is imperative here,” Hughes says.

“That’s exactly right.”

“I have something to add,” Stinton says with his nose turned up.

“Feel free,” Hughes says, exasperated.

“You know the Muster sector is getting a little crowded. We don’t want them to pull another Fry. So why don’t we send some troops over with them, too? Could get dangerous without them, anyway.”

Chapman seems taken aback by this suggestion. “You know what, Benjamin? I was thinking the very same thing.”

That’s perfectly fine with Caldwell. Beacon is more secure than just about anywhere else, but it is not safe by any means. The wall that surrounds the camp can be penetrated by hungries, and even more easily by junkers. Things will run much more smoothly if there’s a few men with guns running around. The kids are dangerous all on their own, too.

There’s a few more pointless tangents, but the meeting wraps up. Caldwell walks from the Council building to her temporary unit. Out in the open air, for a few moments she can almost pretend that she’s walking down the streets of London, headed to work on a busy day. She can almost pretend that everything is normal.


	24. Chapter 24

Eddie Parks is walking across the field behind Joshua Owens, Alisha Dean, and Isaac Burns, the new privates he’s been assigned. He’s just tried in vain to get them to shoot the damn targets right for three hours. It’s pointless. It’s like they’re not even trying. The day has been busy, but boring. They wake up at seven and head to the canteen to eat. Then they’re transported out to Beacon’s borders to keep watch for a while. When their shift is over, they return to the barracks and train hard for the rest of the day. The privates chatter and bicker amongst themselves incessantly and shrilly. None of them are a day over twenty-one, and they act like they’re even younger. Throughout the day, he’s felt something building up inside him. He wasn’t sure what it was until now. He stops dead in his tracks.

It’s everything.

Everything he should have been feeling for the last week. Everything he’s tucked away and hidden in the depths of his mind, trying to desperately to forget and move on. He experiences it all in the span of a few minutes.

First, it’s the horror of seeing Melanie’s corpse. Then it’s the grief. The terrible, gut-wrenching sadness as he remembers everything the little moppet got up to during their time together. Then it’s the anger. He’s screaming at himself in his head. He should have been able to stop it. God, he should have saved her.

Now it’s Helen Justineau, who has honest to God been on the verge of suicide for days as he ignores her. What the hell is wrong with him? What, he’s just going to stare as she loses her mind? Now he’s probably never even going to see her again. They exchanged nothing more than a handshake and a few kind words before parting ways.

But neither of those are the straw that broke the camel’s back. No, it was Gallagher. It was watching that boy’s sad, sad, face as he turned and saluted him one last time before marching into his dinky little house. What is he going to do without his sergeant? And what is his sergeant going to do without his private? That’s not the way things are supposed to be. 

“Are you alright, Sergeant Parks?” asks Isaac Burns, polite as ever. He hasn’t started calling him Sarge yet. None of them have. It’s only been a few days, after all.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says sharply. If he doesn’t sound angry, he’s going to sound like he’s about to cry. Parks takes off walking again, faster this time, trying to run from every thought and feeling that’s crushing him. He heads straight to bed, skipping the recreational hours that the other soldiers take advantage of. This leaves him alone in the barracks, staring up at the ceiling. He’s fucking stranded. He has no idea what could be happening to Gallagher and Justineau. Caldwell is probably off with the Council making up a plan for the cure, but who knows if she’s going to snap or something? Who knows how many more kids are going to have to die? Melanie’s spirit hangs over him. He can practically hear her soft voice, asking him “Why didn’t you save me, Eddie? Why can’t you save my people?”

He rolls over in his bed, shoving his face into the pillow so nobody can see him, and he doesn’t have to see anybody. If only the pods on that fungal wall had opened when he’d driven through them. Then the world would be over and he could peacefully die and be done with this whole thing. But he can’t. When he feels a few tears escape from his eyes, he wipes them away ferociously. He’s gonna keep on fighting, because that’s what he does. Nothing is ever going to change that for as long as he’s alive. 


	25. Chapter 25

“No,” Helen Justineau says flatly, staring right at the head of the civilian block. “Are you fucking kidding me? No.”

The sweaty, wiry man recoils. “Alright. You’re just one of the only ones in this sector who fit the criteria. I’m legally required to ask.”

“Legally required my ass. You’re asking me to be complicit in the murder of children.”

“I didn’t ask that. I just asked if you were interested in being a part of the research programme.”

“I heard you. And I am not interested. That’s the last time I’m going to say it.”

“Alright, Miss. I’m sorry. Just contact me in my office on the first floor if you change your mind.”

She slams the door in his face, feeling her face heating up both out of anger and embarrassment. She knows it’s irrational to be angry with this man specifically; she doesn’t even know his name. Still, he’s the bearer of bad news, so she can’t help it.

She throws herself onto her bed. This is where she’s been spending the majority of her time. She goes downstairs once a day to eat, and that’s it. Otherwise, she just sits there. Sometimes she pretends she’s in jail in an old war movie. Sometimes she hums to herself, but that reminds her of Melanie, so she stops. Most of the time she just sits and fumes about various things, which is what she’s doing now.

The audacity. The sheer audacity of everyone involved! If this is Caldwell’s doing, she’s got another thing coming. She’s got to be out of her mind to think Justineau would want to teach a bunch of kids again, just for them to be ripped apart. She’d rather die.

As the minutes pass, she calms down and is able to see things from a more rational perspective. No, of course Caldwell didn’t specifically requisition her. The man had said that every psychologist, counselor or teacher in the area was being contacted to attend a large meeting if they were interested in joining. So it’s probably just that her name is still registered under “psychologist”. Plus, she doubts that Caldwell would want her there in the first place. She’s the one who tried to ruin everything, after all.

The thought of redoing those four years at the base is physically repulsive. All those sickly, big-eyed children who saw her as a god, always wondering where they came from and where they’re going to go. At any given moment, the classroom was on the verge of crumbling and collapsing. It was the worst after Liam and Marcia went missing. If half the class had been dissected as planned, things would have gone to shit. Questions upon questions that could never be safely answered. It would have worn Justineau down so much that everything would fall apart. So, no. She’s not going to sit by and let a bunch of children die.

_ Wait.  _ Through constant analysis of her own thoughts, she catches it. Her own logical inconsistency.

If she doesn’t join the programme, those kids are still going to die, whether she likes it or not. If she’s there, there isn’t just one option, there are two. Either she can be just another cog in the machine of death, or she can actively work to stop it. That’s what she was trying to do before, wasn’t it? Only now, they’re actually in Beacon. She can get people to listen to her in person. She could do this. She could make everything right again.

This. This is what Melanie would have wanted. She would have wanted for Miss Justineau to protect her kind, to carry on her legacy when she can’t be here. To sit here in her dark room would be to ignore all of the horrible things that are happening. There’s only one right thing to do. She knows what it is.

She’s already on her feet before she knows what she’s doing. She flies down the flights of stairs all the way down to the first floor. Then she’s frantically knocking on the door of the head’s office.

“Come in,” he calls.

She bursts through the door. “I’ve changed my mind. Am I too late?

The man smiles. “No. You’re not too late at all.”


	26. Chapter 26

It’s worse than Kieran Gallagher remembers. All of it. The singing and the fighting and the screaming, all night long. And then the lethargy the next day, where he feels like he’s walking on glass trying not to set off his father, his brother, or his cousin. His dad, Haris, is the worst one, just like he’s always been. He’s kind of like the leader of those feral kids, except instead of eating his flesh, they’re eating his soul away, little by little.

When he’d first walked in the door, Jackie was the only one who was conscious. “They said you were coming back,” she’d said.

“Well, here I am,” he’d responded softly.

She said nothing. Just took another sip of her booze.

Since then, he’s been spending all of his time in his childhood room. It’s hardly bigger than a closet, but it’s virtually untouched. His clothes are still strewn unfolded in his drawers, though nothing fits him anymore except for his neon hoodie, which had always been too big on him. He put it on as soon as he saw it, and he hasn’t taken it off since.

Here’s what he’s been doing. For most of the day he’s been sitting in his bed. Every couple of hours, when things seem quiet, he sneaks out on tiptoe to use the bathroom and grab something from the fridge. They’ve hardly got any food, so he figures he’s going to be living on funky looking carrots and expired pretzels for the foreseeable future. When he’s not sneaking around, he’s apprehensively waiting for someone to come up to his room. That’s happened three times. First time it was his dad, shouting “Why didn’t you tell me you were home?! Get out here!” Gallagher is hesitant, because he can detect the slur in his voice. But he comes out anyway, because he doesn’t want his dad to kick his door down, which he did once. Lucky Steve knew how to put it back on.

His dad grabs him by the head and ruffles his hair too hard. “There’s my boy,” he bellows. “Back from the army, ain’t you? Where’s your little uniform?”

“I already changed, dad.” He keeps his eyes trained on the ground.

“Don’t be like that. Look at me.”

He doesn’t look.

“Look at me!” He grabs Gallagher by the hair and yanks his head upright. Gallagher stares at this scraggly face, with its sunken dark eye bags and wrinkles. His father then shoves him away, muttering obscenities, seeming to forget where he is for a moment. Then he stomps off, nearly tripping as he makes his way back to the kitchen. Gallagher darts back into his room, praying that that’s the end of it. But it’s not.

Next, a few hours later, comes Jackie. She got the red hair gene, like him, except it looks like she hasn’t introduced hers to a comb in a long time. Her curly bangs hang lopsided over her oily face. She’s even skinnier than she was five years ago. Gallagher thinks she kind of looks like one of those skeletons from the Tim Burton movies. He’s only ever seen the posters, of course, but there’s a resemblance. 

When she knocks and he opens the door, she leans against the doorframe and says “Hey.”

“Hey,” he responds. He feels comfortable enough looking her in the eyes. He doesn't like her by any means, but she’s never laid a hand on him. 

“So. The army, huh?” she giggles. She’s very red, too. She must have been drinking already.

“Mhm.”

“You had, like, a sergeant or whatever?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Was he hot?”

Gallagher laughs out loud. He doesn’t even know what to say. “He’s a little old for you, Jackie.”

She shrugs. “Whatever. Did you sleep in, like, a bunk bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Top or bottom?”

“Bottom.”

“Of course,” she laughs.

He rolls his eyes. “Seriously.”

“Did you kill any hungries?”

“Yeah, a shit-ton. And I blew up a bunch of junkers.”

“Woah, that’s sick.”

“I guess.”

She starts to inspect her nails.

“Why’d you come up to talk to me, Jackie?”

“I dunno. Felt kind of awkward not to.”

“You’re asking stupid questions, though.”

She glares at him. He’s always been the meek one, going along with what the rest of his family’s doing. Not anymore. He’s seen and done too much shit for that. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“You’re not. You just think I’m easy to laugh at. Do you even know what happened while we were there?”

“Uh, no. Duh.”

She clearly isn’t interested, but he has to tell someone. It all seems so important, and to have nobody care feels like a betrayal to something, somewhere. “They brought in a bunch of these hungry kids. And they learned to talk. Talking hungry kids. Ever heard of that?”

“Sure they did.”

“They did. And you know who ran the study? Dr. Caroline Caldwell. Ever heard of her? She’s, like, the most famous scientist in Beacon.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve heard of her,” Jackie says in a mocking tone. “She’s, like, a fucking dyke or something. I don’t care.”

“She found the cure.”

“Big whoop.”

“It is a big whoop. Do you seriously not even give a shit about whether or not you’ll survive?”

“Eh.”

Gallagher slams the door in her face.

She cries out in pain, and he hears her stampeding all over the house for twenty minutes after that, trying to incite a riot or something as if anyone’s actually going to care. Nobody cares about anything around here. Nothing except drinking and fucking around. That’s the part that bothers Gallagher the most. He was raised in this place where people stumbled through life drunk and blind, and then, by some miracle, he was dumped into a place where everybody cares about everything. Sergeant Parks cares about keeping people safe and his soldiers. Helen Justineau cares about children and life. Caroline Caldwell cares about her work. And Melanie? Melanie cared about all of them, and she cared about her own people. He’s one of them. Not part of the Gallagher family.

The third person to come to his room is Steve. He doesn’t knock or anything. Just shouts “Come out here, Kieran!” right at the door. Begrudgingly, he shuffles his feet down the hall over the stained wooden planks, covered in empty snack bags. They’re all gathered in the kitchen around the crumpling plastic table. The fridge is wide open, and Gallagher can see various splattered condiments on the floor nearby. He ignores all of that and approaches the table, where the three of them are surrounding an unopened bottle of beer. That’s a rare sight in this house, Gallagher thinks.

“Open it up, kid,” his dad says.

“Huh? Why?” This seems like some kind of trap.

“Well, since you were in the army, you’re so big and strong now,” Jackie says with a smirk.

“Yeah, we’re all too fucking stupid to open a bottle,” Steve says. Out of the three of them, he’s the one who seems the least invested in whatever this is.

“Alright,” Gallagher says cautiously, reaching for the bottle. They all watch him as he opens it. He tries his best not to struggle with it, to get it done as quickly and painlessly as possible.

When it pops open, it explodes all over his face. They all burst into laughter.

“Fucking dumbass!” his father bellows.

Gallagher is quiet. He grips the bottle tight with one hand and wipes his face off with the other. The liquid trickles down into his eyes and burns them. He licks it off of his lips. They’re not laughing anymore. They must be confused by this reaction.

He doesn’t avoid looking at this father anymore. He glares at him, right in the eyes.

“Don’t be such a pussy,” the man says. “We’re just having a bit of fun. Get the fuck over yourself.”

“I’m not a little kid anymore,” Gallagher mutters.

“What?”

“I said,” he repeats, louder and more firmly. “I’m not a fucking kid anymore!” By the end, he’s screaming.

“Well, you look like one. And you’re acting like one.” His father moves to remove his belt.

“You’re not going to do that,” Gallagher says firmly.

“What?”

He takes advantage of his father’s momentary surprise to shatter the beer bottle against the table, right next to his hip. His father yells out and stumbles backwards. Gallagher then holds the shattered bottle up towards his father’s face, pointing the shards right at his eyes. “I said you’re not going to fucking do that. You’re right. I  _ am  _ stronger than you, because I’m actually trying, and you’re just a drunk. I’m twenty years old now. So I’m done with this. You hear me?”

His father is silent.

“You hear me?!” He’s screaming now, spraying flecks of spit into his face.

“I hear you.”

“Good.” He drops the bottle on the floor and stalks off.

Then he sits on the floor curled in on himself for hours. He can’t believe what he’s just done. He’d told his dad to do something, and his father had done it. He prevented himself from being hurt. All on his own. The inner child in him cries out in happiness and jumps for joy. By God, he’s done it.

This increased clarity leads him to see only one thing. He can’t stay here. What, is he just going to sit here under his race car patterned sheets until the day he dies? Of course not. He’s got his own life, and it’s not with these people. Tonight, he’s going to run. Not because he’s scared. Because it’s the thing he needs to do.


	27. Chapter 27

Caroline Caldwell makes every choice with careful consideration.

Well, scientist-wise, she doesn’t have much of a choice. She has to take what she can get. For what she has in mind, she’s going to need a large team, and since Rosie went missing, the pool to choose from has become small and unimpressive. Twenty people show up, and she accepts them all. They’re all a bit younger than her, most in their early to mid thirties. To her they’re all new faces. None of them have made a name for themselves yet, but this is okay. She’s not concerned with popularity. She just needs people who will get the job done.

There are two obvious choices for her scientific co-leaders, and while they may not have been her first pick, she decides not to put up a fight. Everything’s running so smoothly already that there’s no need to put a dent in it. The first is Dr. Daniel Lane, a highly respected, professional man in his forties. He is tall with a sturdy frame, and his hair has already begun to turn pure grey. He claims (multiple times) to have been only a few days away from the cure before Caldwell found it. She finds his constant repetition of this sentiment a bit irritating, but she chooses to overlook it. For the time being. The second is Dr. Theodore Burke, who is in his late sixties. And although he is more agreeable, he is generally very slow. He speaks slowly, moves slowly, and thinks slowly. This might be a product of his age, but Caldwell doesn’t think so. She thinks he simply likes to take his time to come up with the best possible solutions. It’s okay not to want to rush things, so she tries her best to respect this. 

Deciding on the teachers is a different matter altogether. Many more of them show up than she was expecting. They sit or stand around in the main entrance room to the Council building, carrying stacks of papers praising their past achievements. Accompanied by Nell Grant, Caldwell roams around the room, conducting informal interviews. “What was your occupation before the Breakdown?” “May I look at your resume?” “Why do you feel you would be suitable for this programme?” Some of them seem not to want to be here at all, which narrows things down pretty quickly. Others are just far too young or inexperienced.

The first time she strikes gold is with a woman named Kyra Johnson. She’s impossibly tall, and seems to glow with an ethereal radiance. She speaks eloquently, with purpose.

“This is an impressive resume. A former middle school teacher, and experience in special education? I hadn’t considered things from that angle, but that might be useful. Why do you feel you would be suitable for this programme?”

“I was drawn to it,” Johnson says, with a natural toss of her hair, “as soon as I heard of it. I’m incredibly interested in studying the second generation, but I think building a connection with them may turn out to be crucial. I’ve never dealt with children to this scale before, but I have experience. Behavioral issues, violence, trauma. I know how to make them feel safe.” She pauses for a moment, and tacks the last sentence on at the end humbly. “It’s difficult to put into words.”

Caldwell nods thoughtfully. Then, for the first time, she turns to Grant and indicates Johnson with a gesture. Grant understands. She asks Johnson for her hand, and promptly presses the stamp she’s been carrying around to the back of it. “Make sure that stays on,” she says with a smile. Johnson smiles back.

Maybe twenty minutes later, Caldwell comes across another plausible option. Jim Connolly, a sinewy, slightly balding man who carries only one sheet of paper. It states that he had worked as a middle school math substitute, an actor, and a comedian. Nothing more, nothing less. This is slightly unimpressive to Caldwell, and it is not the reason she chooses him. When she asks her final question, this is how he responds.

“It’s a respectable thing you have going here. I’m impressed. Save the world by bringing in the new generation. Poetic, in a way. But here’s the thing I’m worried about. I’m worried that this is going to turn into heartless, thoughtless experimentation. Not because of you or because of anyone else, but because of the scope and timing of it all. I’m concerned for these kids. I think there should be someone around to keep it real. Keep it human. And in that regard, I’m your man.”

Caldwell raises her eyebrows. It’s a bold move for him to speak so casually in this situation. But that bluntness, that honesty, is something she values. He reminds her of Whitaker before he really started drinking, and she can only hope that Conolly won’t go down that same path. And if he does, he can always be exchanged. It’s a throw of the dice, but she has Grant stamp his hand, too.

Astrid Barnett is the next one that comes along. She’s so short that her brown, upturned nose just barely reaches the chest of the man standing next to her. When Caldwell approaches her, she’s biting her lip while flipping through her stack of papers. As the two of them speak, Caldwell notices that she’s very easily startled and a little sheepish. But after her own shaking episode the other day, she’s not in any position to judge. Her resume is incredibly impressive, maybe the most impressive yet. She had been a highly respected guidance counselor at multiple top universities. She feels she’d be suitable for the job because she’s “Good at picking people apart. I can see patterns in behavior right away, and I like to think I’m very thorough with writing reports and such.” It’s not a compelling speech, and Caldwell isn’t trying to base her decisions purely off of what’s in writing, but she can’t say no to those accolades. Barnett gets a stamp.

Caldwell is starting to fade. Despite her best efforts, utter exhaustion overtakes her. Her vision becomes blurry and her head pounds. But she can’t slip away to compose herself, not yet. Not when she only needs one more person. This is her duty, and she won't forsake it. Still, her eyes are trained on the floor as she makes her way across the room. When she happens to lift them, she sees her.

She’s sitting alone at one of the only tables in the room. Her legs are extended fully under the table, her arms are crossed over her chest, and though she seems to stare at nothing, she is clearly lost in thought. Helen Justineau.

_ Don’t engage,  _ Caldwell tells herself.  _ Pretend not to see her and walk away. _ But she can’t help herself. Like she did with the hungry woman with the stroller, she approaches cautiously, taking it one step at a time. That’s when Grant realizes and starts talking. Caldwell isn’t conscious of what she’s saying, but her words cause Justineau to look up. Her expression doesn’t shift.

Grant is still talking. Neither Caldwell nor Justineau say a word out loud, but unspoken, rapid dialogue occurs in a matter of seconds.

Caldwell tilts her head.  _ What are you doing here? _

Justineau’s face is still stony.  _ None of your business. _

Slowly, Caldwell casts her eyes over the entire room. Then, almost imperceptibly, she shakes her head.  _ You don’t want to be a part of this. _

Justineau sits up straight now, leans forward. Her eyes narrow.  _ I dare you. I dare you to choose me. I dare you to blindly put your faith in me and suffer the consequences.  _ Maybe she isn’t really trying to say that last part, but it’s what Caldwell picks up nonetheless.

She doesn’t hesitate. “Stamp, please.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Grant exclaims, in the process of administering the stamp, “A returning faculty member. I’m sure that will make things run more smoothly.” Then she turns to Caldwell, grinning. “That’s the last person, isn’t it?”

Caldwell nods, and Grant gestures for her to follow. But she hasn’t taken her eyes off of Justineau this entire time. She doesn’t want to be the one to look away first. She wants to let Justineau know that she’s the one in control here. Because she is, isn’t she?

After thirty seconds, though, she’s forced to turn away.

An hour later, everyone has filed out of the building, save for the four people with stamps and the chosen team of scientists. “Well done,” says Marcel Chapman. “All things considered, that went smoothly. And you’re happy with your decisions?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Wonderful.” He continues on with the plan. The day after tomorrow, everyone currently present will return to this location along with anything they’d like to bring with them. From there, transportation will be provided to the sector where the programme will take place. They all thank him.

Later that night, Caldwell sits on the bathroom floor, overtaken by tremors yet again. But she doesn’t let them bother her, not even for a moment. Everything is working out, all by her design. For whatever reason, she knows that the choice to trust Helen Justineau was the right one.


	28. Chapter 28

_ It’s time _ , Kieran Gallagher tells himself. Time to get the hell out of here. He’s only got a kind of vague plan in his head, but he figures that if anything goes wrong, he’ll be able to work it out on the fly. Not that that’s ever gone well before, but, hey, there’s a first time for everything.

Under his thin sheet, he grapples with his flashlight. It’s a heavy duty one he got when he was just a kid, and there’s a bunch of dirty smiley-face stickers stuck to it that he couldn’t peel off. It works well enough, though. As soon as he turns it on, it illuminates the entire room. That’s not ideal, so he’ll have to be quick. This is the part he’s actually thought through, because the consequences if he fails seem a lot more immediate. If anyone figures out that he’s sneaking out, he’ll have his father to contend with. And he’s pretty pissed off after Gallagher’s stunt with the beer bottle yesterday. For a moment, Gallagher grimaces. Then he grins, because he knows he’s never going to have to put up with this again.

As quietly as he can, he approaches the window. Getting it open is no easy task, because he hasn’t done it in years and years, so it’s kind of stuck. He grunts with the effort of pulling at it, and it flies up all at once with a huge thump. “Shit,” he hisses through his teeth, but he has no time to rest. He grabs his flashlight and his backpack and hops out. The house is only one story, so this is pretty easy. In all honesty, he thinks he could have just gone out the front door, but he didn’t want to risk it.

This place looks pretty creepy in the dark. If he didn’t have his flashlight on, it would be pitch-black, because nobody has their lights on. All he can see in front of him is dead plants and the sandy road covered in crawling insects. He turns away from that pretty quickly and heads over to his dad’s truck. As always, it’s unlocked, and the keys sit inside. Nobody’s going to try to steal this thing. It’s not like there’s anywhere to go.

Well, for him, there is. The Muster’s quarters. He knows generally where they are, because he spent a couple weeks there before getting sent to Hotel Echo. He’s deliberately timed his escape so he’ll be arriving there at sunrise.

He picks up the keys and turns the car on. This makes a god-awful noise, and for a horrifying second he thinks the car isn’t going to start. Evidently, though, it just needed time to wake up. It comes roaring to life. Out of anything he’s done so far, this is the most likely to attract attention.

And attract it does. One of the lights in the window of his house turns on, illuminating half of the entire street as the brightness splits through the black landscape. It’s Jackie, standing there in a stained, torn sports tank top, hair even messier than usual. She stares at him through the glass with dead eyes. The bags under them are more prominent than ever before.  _ She looks like a damn hungry _ , Gallagher thinks.

Her next move comes as a shock. She raises her arm, and Gallagher covers his head, thinking maybe she’s got a gun. But she’s not holding anything. Slowly, she brings her hand to her face. She draws two fingers across her lips and makes a tossing motion.  _ My lips are sealed, and I’m throwing away the key. _

It takes him only a second to get past the shock. He mouths “Thank you,” clasping his hands together in gratitude. Then he hastily speeds off, nearly knocking into the fence across the street as he backs out. Going, going, and gone. That wasn’t as hard as he thought. And he’s never coming back.


	29. Chapter 29

“Sure. I’ll do it,” Eddie Parks says.

Lieutenant Poole raises his eyebrows. “You will?”

“Yeah.” He hadn’t even needed time to think about it. “I will.”

“Good on you. I was only asking you as a courtesy, you know. I figured you wouldn’t want to go back.”

“Why?” Parks asks, even though he knows perfectly well why.

Poole hesitates. “It’s an odd job. That’s all. Doesn’t seem like something you’d be into.”

Parks shrugs. “I just want to have something more concrete to do.” That’s only part of the truth. There are a lot of reasons he’s so eager to join back up with the programme. He doesn't even understand some of them.

But this is what he does know. He treated those kids like shit at Hotel Echo. He’s going to need to make up for that at some point. For Melanie. And for the fact that it might drive him crazy if he doesn’t. Plus, he’s holding out hope that Helen Justineau might still be there. He needs to apologize to her. And it is true that he wants something more concrete to do. “Protecting Beacon’s borders” is a meaningless job when there’s nothing at the borders. He needs some attainable goal to work for, and saving the world is as good a goal as any.

“That sounds exciting!” exclaims Alisha Dean. She and the other two privates have been standing with him this whole time, same as they always are. They’re out on the training field by the targets again. That’s where Poole approached them to requisition them for the study. 

“Yeah, I’m down,” Burns says. “It’s kind of boring here. No offence, Lieutenant." 

Owens is the only one whose opinion seems to differ, but he doesn’t fight for it. He just crosses his arms, huffs, and says “Whatever you guys say.”

“It’s settled, then,” Parks says. When it comes to formal matters, he and his new soldiers generally exchange very few words. In fact, they hardly speak to him at all, which is probably better, since they go on and on about the stupidest things he’s ever heard of amongst themselves. They really do act like teenagers.

“Alright,” says Poole. “Are you comfortable with leaving today? We’ve got another group assigned. Sergeant Thomas and her people. They’re all ready to head over to the sector. We didn’t realize the Table was requesting more soldiers until this morning.”

“I think we can,” says Parks. “Do you guys need to pack?”

“I want to grab a few things,” Owens says quickly.

“Me, too. But we can do it fast,” adds Burns.

“You all go do that, then. Meet out front in twenty. That sound good, Lieutenant?” 

“Sounds perfect.”

The soldiers scurry off. He can hear Dean squeal “It’s all so sudden!” as they disappear into the barracks. He would feel bad for rushing them around and uprooting them so suddenly, but they’re probably used to it. Beacon soldiers don’t stay stationed in the same place for very long, and they don’t seem very attached to this place specifically. And they hardly ever get the chance to interact with soldiers outside of their own unit. In fact, he’s noticed a general disdain towards protecting this station in general, from a number of different soldiers.

A half-hour later instead of twenty minutes, they convene in the large barren space in front of the main cluster of buildings. Another group of soldiers are walking by. “Where are you all going?” calls out one young man.

“We’re going to some study!” Dean yells back happily.

“Yeah, we’re going to catch hungry kids!” Burns says.

“Oh, sick!” The man bids them goodbye, and the three of them wave cheerfully as his group walks off. Parks is starting to have second thoughts now. These kids have no idea what they’re signing up for. The retrieval runs aren’t somewhere you can be messing around, and he has the feeling that’s not something they excel at. Well, hey. They can learn. He did, once. 

Sergeant Norah Thomas and Poole stand conversing next to a Hummer. Her five soldiers sit in the back, looking a little wary. Thomas nods at Parks as he approaches, her expression sober as always. She’s the type of woman who takes no bullshit from anyone, but Parks has always respected her immensely. She’s been here in Beacon holding the fort for her entire career in the Muster. She has the type of conviction that Parks thinks more people should have. Maybe his soldiers will take a couple pointers from her.

He’s thinking about this so hard that the vehicle approaching in the distance takes a moment to register. He’s the first one to physically react; he has his gun out and pointed before Poole. Even Dean, Burns and Owens are on top of it, and soon the five soldiers stand in a line, blocking the vehicle from pulling up too close to the buildings. At first, it seems obvious where this person has come from. Beaten down truck with a shitty orange paint job? That has junker written all over it. Actually, though, it doesn’t have anything written on it, which is strange for junkers. They usually like to mark their territory. And why would there only be one of them here? A messenger to propose some kind of deal, maybe? But why would they come here? That’s not the junker’s usual style. These questions are what keeps Parks from shooting right away. He’s not going to unload unless he’s sure this is an enemy.

And, God, he’s glad he doesn’t. Because he knows the man who steps out of the truck. Arms thrown up in immediate surrender, red curls falling over his brow, panting like he’s just run a marathon. It’s Private Gallagher.

“Don’t fire,” Parks says. “He’s friendly.” He puts his gun away and starts to approach slowly, because he’s not completely sure he’s not hallucinating. Gallagher drops his arms at his sides and stares, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, either. Then he walks a few steps forward, and the two of them are face to face.

Before Parks knows what he’s doing, he’s wrapped his arms around the private.

It’s a big, fatherly bear hug, and he can tell that he’s practically lifting Gallagher off his feet. He hesitates for a moment but soon returns the hug and laughs. This feels right, Parks thinks. This is the way it was meant to be.

Once they pull apart, he doesn’t know what to say for a moment. “Welcome back, son,” is what ends up coming out.

“Good to see you, Sarge.”

Parks gestures him over to Poole, and he approaches quickly. The others have dropped their guns now and are watching in surprised silence. “Lieutenant, this is Private Kieran Gallagher. He was under my command at Hotel Echo.”

“How did you get here, private?” Poole asks. “Sent by the Council? Does your family know you’re here?”

Hesitantly, turning red, Gallagher shakes his head. “No, I… I was sent home, but I felt I was needed here. This is my father’s truck. He wouldn’t give me permission to leave the house.”

“I see,” Poole says, scratching at his grey stubble. “Well, we could use another man. You have experience with the retrieval runs? And with the feral children?”

“Yes, sir.”

Poole frowns, deliberating, then turns to Parks and Thomas. “What do you two think?”

“I don’t see a problem with it,” Thomas says, shrugging. “If he’s got the determination to steal a truck and drive all the way here, I think he’ll do fine.”

Parks nods. “He has experience, like you said. I can vouch for him. He’s a good soldier.”

“Alright, then,” Poole says. “You interested in joining the programme, private?”

“Absolutely,” Gallagher says. He nods eagerly, but his expression is solemn. “Yes.”

“Then it’s decided. Feel free to hop in.”

Gallagher then turns to Parks and grins. This whole time, Parks has been watching him in awe. Just the thought of him gathering the courage to break out of his own house and steal a damn car is both hilarious and inspiring. He wears an obnoxiously bright hoodie over his uniform, and on he carries a backpack that probably used to be bright red but is covered in grime. Everything seems too big for him. He’s a real runaway. Parks claps him on the shoulder before they both climb into the Hummer.


	30. Chapter 30

Everyone pulls in at once. The sun is just beginning to set, casting shadows over the still, eerie landscape of the abandoned sector. This is one of the few sections of Beacon that were here pre-Breakdown, and it’s on the very outskirts of the survivor’s camp. In total, it’s three wide streets, all connected at both ends, which largely consist of dilapidated apartment buildings. One of these buildings has been assigned to the soldiers, and another to the feral children.

Two structures stand out among the rest. One is a long, wide expanse on the rightmost street containing four laboratories. The scientific team has brought the majority of the necessary equipment since there’s no way to know what they’ll find there. The second is an unassuming building on the center street; at first glance, it looks to be a tiny storefront or shed. But you can only see the entrance room from the street. When you enter, you’re greeted with a large room filled with tables and chairs, complete with a whiteboard and desk. A window looks out onto a large courtyard in the back. This will be the schoolhouse.

At the end of the leftmost street sits an old Marriott hotel, as promised, except some of the letters have fallen so it just reads “Rriot.” The staff room will be the official personnel meeting room, and the teachers and scientists will be assigned to the hotel rooms. It’s run down, though, and there are quite a few hungry corpses littered throughout. It will need to be thoroughly disinfected and cleared out. It’s the same with the apartment buildings; the one for the children will need to be properly secured, too. But everyone is up to the challenge.

A barbed-wire fence sits a few hundred yards away from the back of the hotel. Past that is the wilds, where the soldiers will need to travel to obtain the children. The others, of course, will be forbidden from crossing it. But many of them are not used to being able to see the outside world so clearly. Some of them find it unnerving. Others, freeing.

The whole place is dubbed “Hotel Riot” by the young soldiers, derived from the hotel’s destroyed sign. Nobody’s really sure what they’re rioting against though. Maybe the pathogen, or maybe death itself. The 37 people here are just 37 tiny specks on the face of a dying planet, but they may be the most important specks left.

He almost called him “dad,” earlier. The Sergeant. Kieran Gallagher is glad he didn’t slip up and say something so embarrassing, but he’s thinking that maybe one day he’ll get the confidence to say something like that for real. Because nobody’s ever held him like that in his life. Not even for a brief, fleeting moment. Not his dad, his brother or his cousin, and not even Nina, the girl he’d been with so many years ago. Parks is the first one to defend him, to look at him like that, to call him “son.” He’s more of Gallagher’s family than his biological family will ever be. He realizes this now. That’s why he’s so glad he followed Parks to this programme, this Hotel Riot, this last hurrah at the end of the world. They’re all fighting for their lives and for everyone else’s. And through it all, he’s going to stick with the Sarge, from now until forever.

Eddie Parks is a hugger today. He never thought that would be something that is objectively true, but it is. The moment he saw Helen Justineau, he enveloped her. Just for a quick moment, though. It was a formal, friendly greeting, nothing like what he’d done to Gallagher, but a hug nonetheless. He apologizes, too, just like he said he would. He tells her he’s been a real dumbass not to help her out the past week, and that he thinks he was going through some sort of shock response. And that he’s back to normal now, which might not be the case for her. She does smile at him briefly, but something’s a little off. Well, of course it is. She’s essentially lost her daughter. She’s not going to get over that in a few days. Still, though, he can tell she’s different than the last time he saw her. That smile isn’t completely fake. It’s genuine effort, a tiny drop of optimism. So he takes what he can get. He isn’t going to leave her by the side of the road like that ever again.

Caroline Caldwell wears a mask. Not literally, though she is carrying quite a few with her. She smiles and nods at Dr. Lane and Burke’s suggestions, offers advice to the soldiers when they need it, and answers the younger scientist’s questions. She wears a facade of professionalism to cover up the quickness of her breath, her rising temperature, and the ache that has overtaken her entire body. And the panic. It’s overwhelming and debilitating, but she takes care to make sure it doesn’t show on her face even the slightest bit. But she feels as if she’s going to explode. The study is happening so quickly. It’s exactly what she wanted, but she couldn’t have anticipated the way things would play out. She just needs to get into a routine, she thinks, and she’ll be fine. But that may not be possible. She has to go with the flow, to adapt to her rapidly changing environment. It’s not going to be easy, but she’s going to do it. And despite her nervousness, she feels she can hardly wait another second for the programme to start.

Helen Justineau lingers at the back of the group. She’s silent when the others are talking, and when she’s asked a direct question, she speaks only briefly. She only tolerates Parks and Gallagher standing close to her, as their presence comforts her. They’ve seen what she’s seen, and they know what needs to be done. Everyone’s talking about a briefing early the next morning, where everyone will learn what will take place here. She decides not to attend it. She’s done this before. She knows what she needs to know. And this entire time, this is what she’s thinking.  _ I will never let another child be harmed for as long as I live. Melanie did not die in vain. I will do whatever it takes to make this work. _

Somewhere, up above, Melanie smiles.


	31. Chapter 31

“Doctor,” says Sergeant Norah Thomas, “Can you come over here?”

Caroline Caldwell huffs and ceases studying the fruiting hungry’s stalk. She’s starting to think that she should never have volunteered to come on the retrieval runs at all. She would never admit that, of course, because she had to fight to be allowed to tag along. Nell Grant and most of the soldiers weren’t too keen on letting a woman missing an arm with no combat experience travel into one of the most dangerous areas around. Sergeant Parks was the one to bat for her, and she knows he’s probably the only reason her request was approved.

If only he hadn’t! It’s an incredibly hot day; Caldwell’s shirt feels far too tight, and it’s plastered to her skin with sweat. She wasn’t even allowed to wear her lab coat, as the white would stand out. She almost feels incomplete without it. And to make matters worse, the soldiers keep rushing her along. The whole point of being on the field like this is to make real observations. She’s able to see phenomena such as the fungal wall and the fruiting hungries without a feverish, clouded mind for the first time. She could stand for hours making mental notes, going over every last element of the little white pods, and of the wall’s cloudlike nature. It’s incredible, but the soldiers don’t seem to understand. They’re only concerned with the current task at hand.

Which is to locate feral children. And so far, after three runs, all of which Caldwell attended, they haven’t had any luck. Once, they caught a glimpse of a young girl with dark hair from far away, but she ran off the moment she spotted them. Caldwell is becoming fed up. It was easy for Parks and the others to collect test subjects ( _ stop calling them that, _ she reminds herself) back at Hotel Echo, so why is it so difficult now? Is she cursed? 

As Caldwell moves to rejoin the group, Parks gives her a nod. She notices he’s been different ever since the young Private returned. It’s strange; she hadn’t noticed any sort of familial bond forming between them. But, then again, out of Melanie, Justineau, Parks and Gallagher, the latter two were the two she had been the least concerned with. Now, Parks is the most tolerable member of the group. Gallagher isn’t here on the march; he’s with Sergeant Thomas and the others on the city borders, waiting to swoop in with Hummers when necessary. The other young soldiers are incessantly chatty. She suspects it’s their noise driving the hungry children away. To be fair, they’ve actually been relatively quiet for the last hour or so. Everyone’s too hot, thirsty and tired to be making conversation.

She realizes that she’s slowed down and is lingering at the back of the group, so she quickens her pace to a jog to get to the front. She’s leading this mission just as much as Parks and Thomas, more so the scientific aspects, so she shouldn’t appear to be daydreaming. She needs to set a good example, doesn’t she? That’s why she lifts her eyes from the street and stares diligently into the horizon. 

With Parks and Caldwell in the front and all the rest of the nine soldiers scattered behind them haphazardly, they continue on for a half-hour. Soon, Caldwell is grateful she’s been keeping a watchful eye. There, in the distance, she spots three small figures. She forgets protocol for what she’s supposed to say, so she calls out wordlessly and points. The others spot the targets pretty quickly.

“Finally!” exclaims Alisha Dean. The others shoot her a look, indicating for her to quiet down. They need to be quiet if they’re to approach these hungries efficiently. Pulling out his walkie-talkie, Parks gestures everyone towards an alleyway, which they duck inside of. Bins overflowing with trash long forgotten are toppled over in the confined space. Caldwell takes care not to step in any of it, though the soldiers don’t seem to notice at all. 

“We found three,” Parks says. Thomas asks for their coordinates, he tells them, and the other group starts driving their way over. “Should only be ten or so minutes,” Parks says. 

“Great,” sneers Private Liz Vaughn, the only other female soldier. She’s one of Thomas’ girls. Caldwell doesn’t know the first thing about her, but she’s come to appreciate the fact that she hardly ever talks. This is especially beneficial since the two of them often lag behind the group, so they end up walking in close proximity a lot of the time.

“What’s your problem?” Dean cries out suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve been so bitchy all day.” Vaughn just rolls her eyes and turns away, eliciting a chuckle from Private Aiden Holland. 

“Ladies,” warns Parks. Caldwell almost snaps at him, but decides it’s not worth the energy. She despises that condescending tone, though she thinks that maybe he’s too stupid to even realize he’s using it.  _ It doesn’t matter _ , she thinks, and it’s probably for the best since Vaughn is a head taller than Dean. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.

They stand in silence for the remainder of the time it takes for the others to arrive. It feels like far less than ten minutes before they hear the rumble of the two Humvees close behind. Private Burns peeks his head out of the alleyway and gestures for the others to follow. One by one, they dart into one of the two vehicles. Caldwell, Parks, Burns and Vaughn chose the one where Thomas sits at the wheel, and Gallagher and Burns sit in the back. “Where are they?” Thomas says.

“Just up ahead,” Caldwell says quickly, pointing directly in front of them.

“Perfect. We all remember the procedure?”

They all nod, and the Hummer takes off. The sheer speed of the movement throws all but Parks back into their seats. The engine roars as they go barreling towards the three children. Despite knowing and understanding the plan, Caldwell tenses up. The children will surely hear the noise, and they’re going to run away. What are the chances they’ll be able to catch them?  _ Very high,  _ she reminds herself, as this Humvee has wheels, and the hungries only have their legs. 

As they get closer, she cranes her neck to see the children better. Two young ones are standing frozen in the middle of the road, holding what seems to be some sort of rope. An older one sits crouched on the concrete beside them. All around her are strange white patterns, branching out in every direction. Caldwell blinks a few times, just to make absolutely sure she’s seeing things right. It’s difficult to tell at the speed they’re going.

By the time Thomas hits the brakes, the girl has risen, and the three children have darted off. Here comes step two of the plan, where the other Humvee, driven by one of Thomas’ boys, lodges itself sideways in the middle of the street, blocking their paths. In the split second it takes for the children to process what has happened, everyone is out of the car, including Caldwell. Parks and Gallagher have the net over them before they know what hit them.

They’re screaming now, growling and clawing at the net like wild animals. She knows she’s not supposed to go near them, but Caldwell has never gotten the chance to see this before. She can’t help but inch a few steps closer, studying their behaviors intently. “It’s alright, you little monsters,” says Parks. Strangely, there’s almost an affectionate tone in his voice. He, Gallagher and Burns start the process of hauling the kids into the Hummer. It’s a difficult process. They can’t put their limbs anywhere near the kids, not in this state, even though the soldiers are covered head to toe in e-blocker. Eventually, they manage to wrangle the net into a position where the kids can easily be pushed into the back of the vehicle, which is padded with towels and blocked off just for them. A specially made luxury hotel room.

Just as Parks and Thomas get ready to make the final push, Caldwell calls out “Careful!” She’s not sure why she does it. Maybe it’s just because it wouldn’t be beneficial for the test subjects to be damaged. She cringes as Parks and Thomas glance back at her as if she’s insane. 

As they climb back into the cars, Caldwell sits as near the children as the others will allow her. She can barely see them over the back seat or through the crude bars they’ve set up, but what sounds like a young girl’s voice is babbling on, a long string of vowels with seemingly no end.  _ They’ll learn to speak soon enough,  _ Caldwell thinks. The others certainly did. Melanie was the quickest learner, of course. She always had been. And even if these three children don’t learn as fast, it’s not as if they’ll be prisoners forever. No. This time will be different. Caldwell has a plan. She will stand by her decision, no matter what. 


	32. Chapter 32

The sound of a commotion outside draws Justineau to her window. She’s hardly left this hotel room ever since the start of the programme, but she opens the curtains (real curtains!) every now and again. She hasn’t attended any of the mandatory meetings discussing the direction the research will be taking, and no one has come to seek her out. The only thing she’s really helped with was disinfecting the rooms on the first few days. She already knows what’s going on here, and she’s going to do things her way. 

The other teachers and scientists are flowing out of the hotel onto the street below to greet the two approaching Hummers. This has happened two times before, after the two presumably failed retrieval missions. Justineau is prepared to assume this is the same situation until she sees Parks, Gallagher, Sergeant Thomas, and some younger soldiers she hardly recognizes jumping out of the cars carrying nets and handcuffs. She’s flying down the stairs before she’s even registered the wave of panic that washes over her.

By the time she stumbles out onto the dilapidated parking lot, the Humvees are pulling into the rightmost street of the new programme area, where she knows the lab buildings are located. Her sense of urgency only grows as she realizes what this must mean, and she breaks into a run. Just as she nears the lab buildings, two men step out in front of her carrying a comically large sheet of glass. They’re two of Caldwell’s little scientific assistants. Justineau doesn’t know their names, and doesn’t care to. She shouts at them, but she can’t even hear herself over her own thoughts. As soon as they’re out of the way, she rushes towards the door of the lab, where her worst fears are playing out in real-time. 

There’s four of them. Four children, eerily familiar, though Justineau has certainly never seen them before. Muzzles are clamped over their mouths, but their wordless protests can still be heard. And they’re in handcuffs, being wrangled into the lab doors by the soldiers.

But she can’t get to them, not right away. There’s chaos all around. The scientists are roving about, shouting to each other and pulling on lab coats and gloves as quickly as they can. The soldiers are all preoccupied keeping the kids in place; the younger girl has to be hoisted up, carried by two men, on either side. One of these men is Parks.

That’s the final straw that gets Justineau to shove her way through the crowd. “What the hell is going on?” she shouts, staring directly at him. Her voice is hoarse and crackly, as she hasn’t spoken in over twenty-four hours.

Parks looks up at her, confused at first, then exasperated. “Not now, Helen!” he yells back.

She won’t have that. Nothing stops her as she approaches him, trying to wrestle the child out of his hands. He pushes her away with ease. “What are you- why are you-” He can’t even seem to find the words. He just shakes his head and repeats “Later,” as the girl is carried into the building. The others are already inside.

And here she comes.  _ She _ , Justineau’s worst nightmare. Caroline Caldwell, striding towards the lab with long elegant steps, pulling on her lab coat. She pulls a walkie-talkie out of her pocket and speaks urgently into it. “Dr. Lane and Dr. Burke, please report to the lab area immediately. We have obtained four subjects. The procedure needs to be performed as soon as possible. I repeat, we have obtained four subjects.”

“The procedure?” Justineau cries out. She’s aware she sounds hysterical, but she doesn’t care.  _ This  _ is hysterical. It’s a warranted reaction. “What procedure? You’re going to kill them now, just like that?”

Caldwell stops in her tracks and stares at her. Her eyes, wide with disbelief at first, narrow. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says, turning away and continuing on her path. Justineau quickly interposes herself in front of her. 

“What is she doing?” she hears a voice call out. Dean, she thinks, one of the young soldiers. 

“I’m not going to let this happen,” Justineau announces. “I’m not.”

“I really don't have the time for this,” Caldwell says, trying to sidestep her. “This is incredibly urgent. If you’re confused, you should start attending the meetings.”

“I’m not attending any fucking meetings! You’re not touching those children!”

“The procedure is harmless,” Caldwell mutters. “A week’s recovery at the most. Now let me get to my work.”

“No!” Her voice has escalated to a scream. She’s furious. Furious at the world for letting this happen, and furious at herself for not preventing it sooner. What was she doing, sitting around in her room for weeks? She could have put an end to this before it even began. But that ship has already sailed. She needs to stop this from happening, now. And she won’t fail this time. “No!”

She feels hands on her shoulders. Thomas and Burns, drawing her away. “Calm down,” begs Thomas. “I know you weren’t at the meetings. We’ll explain everything, just-”

Justineau brushes them off, goes to try again. But it’s difficult for her to move. Her vision is becoming cloudy, and her heart is pounding from the run over. She’s too old to be exerting herself like this. She tries to ignore the feeling, and push on, but she can’t. The soldiers easily get a hold of her again.

The scientists are beginning to file inside, and the crowd around the doors gradually thins out, leaving only a few soldiers and teachers. Caldwell hasn’t entered yet, though, so Justineau feels free to continue on. “If you lay hands on them, you’re a monster!” she yells. “I promise you, this is the last time!”

Evidently unable to restrain herself any longer, Caldwell finally turns to Justineau and shouts, “I’m not ‘laying hands on them’! If you’d just listen to me and follow the procedures, things like this wouldn’t happen! I thought you would have learned your lesson!”

“You’re lying!” Justineau retorts. “They’ll be dead by tomorrow, all four of them! And don’t you dare tell me they’re already dead!”

Before Caldwell has a chance to respond, Dr. Lane and Burke arrive and rush her inside, muttering about how pressing this matter is. As they disappear, Justineau turns to Thomas and Burns, who’ve finally let go of her. “Don’t you see what’s happening?” Justineau says. “She’s just saying that to get her hands on them!”

“You’re wrong, Helen,” Thomas starts. “Just-”

But Justineau has already shoved her off, and is making her way back to her room. There’s no way she’s getting into that laboratory, not now that she’s already let things get out of hand, so there’s no point sticking around. She drags her feet up what feels like thousands of flights of stairs and finally collapses on her bed.

Less than an hour later, there’s a tentative knock at the door.

“Who is it?” Justineau calls out, rubbing her eyes.

“It’s Kyra Johnson. Nell sent me to talk to you. Nothing bad, I promise.”

Justineau hesitates, but she figures that if she’s going to have to start attending the stupid meetings, an extra conversation won’t hurt. And from what she’s seen so far, she likes Johnson well enough. She gets up to open the door. “You can come in,” she says. “But there’s not really anywhere to sit.”

“Thank you.” Johnson steps into the room, studies it, and then turns to look at Justineau. Justineau can tell from her face that she’s intently gathering as much information as she can, although she wishes she would just get to the point.

“I know you’re concerned-”

“Of course I am.”

“But there’s no reason to be. The procedure they’re doing, it doesn’t hurt the children at all. They’re extracting a tiny bit of brain matter for the vaccines, that’s all. It doesn’t hurt them. Like Dr. Caldwell said, it’s only about a week’s recovery. They’re not hurting them at all.”

Relief floods Justineau’s body, and she sits down on the edge of her bed. Johnson quickly sits down next to her. Then, concerns start to pop up. “And then we’re just going to keep them here?” There’s an edge in her voice. “Like prisoners.”

“No,” Johnson shakes her head, “No, only for a few months. We need to make sure they’re fully recovered. And we want to teach them how to interact with humans. Understand our language, all of that. And we want them to understand what they are, and that we’re just trying to live together. Peacefully.”

“Oh.” Justineau falls silent. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous tic she’s always had. It’s perfect, isn’t it? Why does she act like this? Bursting into everyone’s business, messing everything up. She’s even more hysterical than she thought. Maybe she’s finally gone off the deep end. Well, it doesn’t matter. Better to be pleasantly surprised than have her cynicism validated. Her voice is quiet when she speaks. “Whose idea was it?”

“What?”

“The whole concept. Keeping them just to foster peace, and then releasing them.”

“Well, Dr. Caldwell came up with it initially, but we all helped to flesh it out. That’s what we’ve been doing at the meetings. You really should start coming. We could use your input. I get the feeling you know a lot, and that you have strong opinions. Most of which I agree with.”

The disbelief comes first. “Caroline? Caroline came up with that?”

Johnson nods.

Then, the rest of what she’d said settles in. “I’ll start coming. I didn’t realize… I thought they were just procedural.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But I’m happy they’re getting everyone’s input. And once the kids recover, we can start teaching! I can hardly wait. Oh, that’s another thing. The first day, we’re all going to meet the kids together. Then we can start rotating once we feel comfortable.”

Justineau nods. She thinks that’s how they’d done it at Echo, too, though that was so many years ago she can hardly remember. 

“You know, Helen, you should come downstairs more. We’ve been playing some games, at meals and in the rec room. I think you’ll have fun. And none of us bite.” The corners of her lips turn up.

Justineau flinches, reminded of what Melanie had said to her after nearly devouring her. But the feeling goes away quickly, because there’s something comforting about Johnson’s presence. She knows she’s striking, obviously, and she’s clearly a master at psychological manipulation, even if it’s for a good cause. But Justineau thinks the two of them are going to get along. She decides that she’ll start leaving her room more often.


	33. Chapter 33

Hours pass. Sweat is pouring from every inch of Caldwell’s body, but she doesn’t slow down. Her mind is running at a thousand miles an hour. The operations are all going smoothly. It’s immensely useful to have this many assistants running about, passing her, Dr. Lane and Dr. Burke tools and materials whenever they need it. Everyone is decked out in a mask, gloves and bright white lab coat. The fluorescent lights beat down upon them, seeming even brighter as the sun sets outside. 

At this point, the two boys, the little one and the tall, skinny one, are completed. The older girl and the younger girl are in the process of being operated on. Caldwell is over the older girl, who looks to be about 15, carefully carving out the specific couple cells she needs. She carefully drops what she’s collected in a vial and gestures for the assistant to come bandage the wound.

All four of the children stopped thrashing long ago, as the kinder scientists carefully assured them that they wouldn’t be hurt, and that when they woke up they would be in their own rooms. All but the younger girl are sound asleep, and she’s just babbling a bit, not seeming distressed at all anymore. Like all of the other hungry children Caldwell has encountered, they seem to adapt remarkably fast.

“Do you want me to store that with the others, Dr. Caldwell?” asks Eliza Willis, reaching out for the newly filled test tube. Caldwell nods, glancing up at the woman and getting a good look at her for the first time. She’s noticed that she’s been one of the most attentive, helpful assistants this entire night, even though she seems chronically out of breath and bashful. Caldwell’s going to remember that. 

They work on. Caldwell and Lane move onto the youngest girl, the final child on which the procedure needs to be performed. Caldwell identifies the familiar itch behind her eyes. She’s disturbed. She used to have that feeling only when she stayed up for three days or more, and she got a perfectly normal amount of sleep last night. It’s this missing arm that’s tripping her up. It makes operating a complete nightmare. She hates relying on Lane in this way, but she has no other choice.

Her hands start to tremble as she holds the scalpel close to the girl’s head. The child lets out a string of concerned syllables; not quite words, but awfully close. Probably telling her to be careful. Which she will be, of course, but she’s starting to get concerned now. Her hand won’t stop shaking. It’s the cursed tremors again. They travel up her arm over her entire body, and her scalpel clatters to the floor. Her face twists up in protest. She can do this. She’s the leader here, and she doesn’t need to rely on anyone else.

But as she takes a step back, Burke and a few assistants are already stepping up to take her place. Nobody even seems to notice that she stopped mid-procedure. It’s as if she was never there in the first place.

She presses her fingers to her temples, trying to compose herself. Her head becomes foggy as the lab starts to swim before her very eyes. She’s trapped in this state for so long that by the time she pulls herself out of it, they’ve finished. Without her.

“You alright, Caroline?” Dr. Lane asks.

She can barely even muster up the energy to nod. She watches with drooping eyelids as soldiers file into the room to take their bodies to their temporary cells, the ones in the room just outside the lab. She can’t bring herself to move her feet. She feels completely rooted in place, as if she’s going to fall asleep where she stands.

She feels a hand on her back. It’s Dr. Burke, leading her along towards the door and saying something. She doesn’t hear him, but lets herself be pushed.

The world turns from pure, fluorescent light to darkness. There are crickets, honest to God crickets, chirping from the wilds just outside the fence, which is only a couple hundred yards away. There are a few lights on in the soldier’s windows of their building, but other than that, the area is pitch black. In a way, it’s ominous how similar this seems to life before the Breakdown. Stumbling out of her dorm after a long evening of studying, just needing some fresh air… Those times seem so far away. So far away…

Caroline Caldwell collapses to the ground. 


	34. Chapter 34

“I’m so scared!” squeals Alisha Dean. “What if they try to bite us?”

“They won’t be able to see us,” Burns reminds her. “Totally safe.”

“Bullshit,” Owens says.

Kieran Gallagher is silent. He usually is, in the presence of his new squad. Well, Dean and Owens at least. He never knew two people could talk and fight and ramble so much. He swears he hears their voices at night in his sleep. Burns talks a lot, too, but at least he’s quiet and says sensible things, unlike the other two. And Parks is hardly around. He’s always in a meeting with Thomas and Grant and whoever and whatever.

He likes it here, though. He likes it just fine. He likes having his own room, and his own free time, and having familiar faces all around him. And he likes knowing that he’s involved in something good for once in his life.

The four privates of Parks' squadron are currently making their way to the laboratories to see the new kids. Thomas’ kids went earlier today, but they refused to say anything about what they saw, because Thomas told them not to. The lot of them are kind of suck-ups, and they always seem a little scared, although Gallagher thinks Aiden Holland seems just fine.

They reach the lab. Gallagher is glad to see Dr. Caldwell isn’t there, because he heard she passed out last night and wouldn’t want things to be awkward. Actually, though, he’s surprised to see that there are no scientists there at all, at least not from what he can see. Carefully and quietly, the four of them slip through the front door and sneak over to the holding cells.

Like they heard, the cell’s doors are two way glass, earlier installed by some of Thomas’ guys. They put a huge piece of regular glass in the courtyard, too, where they’re going to teach the kids. That way the kids won’t have to be tied up or in wheelchairs, but they still can’t get to their teachers to tear them limb from limb. You know, typical classroom concerns.

Gallagher’s eyes are first drawn to the youngest hungry. He’s in the middle cell, and he can’t be more than five or six years old. Somehow, he’s got a bit of chubbiness to him, the kind you usually see on really little kids. Must have been a lot of rats available where he lived. Or died. He’s sitting on the floor with his back turned to the glass. The four soldiers gather around.

“What’s he doing? He’s messing with something,” Burns says.

“Shh,” Owens reminds him. 

“I think it’s a toy,” Dean says.

Just then, the boy shifts his position a little, and they can see he’s holding a bright yellow flat circle. When he pulls the string on the side, an arrow in the middle spins and lands on a letter of the alphabet. They can’t hear anything, but they assume the toy proceeds to read the letter off.

“Wow!” Dean exclaims. “Will he be able to read?”

“Oh, yeah,” Gallagher says. “They can read well, and write, too, after only a couple of months. They start talking before that, and a lot of the time they can speak perfectly before they even know the alphabet. It’s kind of creepy.”

“I forgot, Kieran. You know all about this stuff,” Owens says. “Do they make any noise before they know how to talk?”

“A lot. They chatter like chimps, and sometimes chirp like birds, and sometimes they don’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard before.”

The four of them chuckle to themselves before moving on to the next cell. Here sits a skinny girl, probably 10 or 11. She’s on the edge of her bed, tying knot after knot on a little white rope. They watch her for a moment, and then she starts to braid it into her hair.

“That’s adorable,” Dean says. “Who knew they had a sense of fashion?”

“I wouldn’t call that a fashion sense,” Owens says.

“Still,” says Burns, “it’s impressive that she knows how to tie knots in the first place. And that she wants to make herself look nice. I wonder… I wonder if they get crushes. Fall in love, you know? How else would they have kids?”

“Oh, they do for sure,” Gallagher pipes up. His chest drops when he remembers Melanie’s big puppy dog eyes for Miss Justineau, but he can’t help but smile. “This one girl, she was obsessed with her teacher. Helen Justineau, you know her?”

“I know her now,” Owens says. “She hardly left her room for like two weeks, remember? I thought she might be a witch or something, but now she goes to the rec room sometimes. Usually with that other teacher… I forgot her name.”

“The hot one, or the really short one?” Burns questions.

“Hot.”

“Well, then.”

They move on. In the third cell is a boy, around the same age as the girl. He’s quite skinny, too, and his hair flops over into his eyes. “He looks exactly the same as that other girl!” Dean says. “Kieran, have you ever seen hungry siblings?”

“Never before,” he admits. “But I don’t see why not.”

This boy is dead asleep, his chest moving up and down ever so slightly. His head rests on his two hands like a little angel on a greeting card. He looks almost ethereal, and the four soldiers can’t find any jokes to make. Suddenly, the bandages wrapped around all the children’s heads start to sink in. The absurdity of this whole situation sticks out like a stain on a white carpet. They stand and shift from foot to foot uncomfortably before Owens finally plows forward to the last cell.

This girl is different. She looks to be 15 or 16 years old, and she could easily pass for a normal girl, the way she’s sitting on her bed, leaning against the wall and picking at her nails. She wears a long, white shirt and nothing else. Her dark hair, though matted, cascades down to her mid back. She reminds Gallagher a little bit of a girl he’d liked in middle school, but he pushes the thought out of his head. This isn’t even a human girl. 

“She looks…” Burns begins, trailing off immediately.

Gallagher knows what he means. “Normal.”

They all nod to themselves for a moment before Deans suddenly shoots up. “Well, that’s that, she says, beginning to walk off.

“Wait,” says a sharp voice from behind them. They all jump. Slowly, Gallagher turns to face this mysterious foe and finds it to be nothing more than a woman in a lab coat. It’s not Caldwell. She’s a decade younger, probably, and her hair is pulled into the messiest bun he’s ever seen on the back of her head. “Hello,” she says.

“Hi…” Burns responds tentatively.

“You don’t have clearance to be in here,” she says.

The four soldiers glance at each other guiltily. 

“Sergeant Parks said it was okay-” Owens begins.

“No, he didn’t,” Gallagher cuts him off fiercely, much louder than he had intended. “We’re sorry. We just couldn't help ourselves.” He won’t stand for anyone slandering the Sarge.

The girl considers this for a moment, then steps forward. “I’m Eliza Willis, okay? It’s nice to meet you. I don’t want to see you back here without permission. Now run along.”

They obey without question.


	35. Chapter 35

Helen Justineau is the first one in the classroom. Well, at least, she thinks she is for a good few minutes. She leans against the desk at the front of the room, arms crossed, and looks over the rows of empty desks. There’s that sinking feeling again, that ever-present dread that’s becoming a constant sensation in her life. She can almost picture her at the front desk, the pale little girl, raising her hand so enthusiastically that strands of hair fall into her eyes. Her smile, her melodic laughter. It feels like a dream now. Maybe it never even happened. She’ll never know.

That’s when she happens to glance out of one of the many small windows. Kyra Johnson and Jim Connolly are standing outside already. She remembers then what she heard at the last meeting she attended, the only one so far. The lessons will be taking place outside in the courtyard, at least until the children learn not to attack their teachers. The large piece of glass, the one she almost ran into the other day, will keep both sides safe. Justineau steps out into the courtyard. On second thought, it does seem a little silly to be meeting out here today, since lessons aren’t starting yet. The children are still in recovery in their holding cells, where they reportedly have been playing with their toys and babbling to each other a bit. 

“Helen!” Johnson calls out excitedly as soon as Justineau steps into view. “Jim was just telling me the funniest story.”

Justineau has been trying to be a little more reclusive than she used to be at Echo. Opening up seems to only get her hurt, and she’s trying to avoid that happening again. Unfortunately, Johnson, Connolly and Barnett are ruining all of that. She barely knows them, but she can already tell they’re good people. They genuinely want to help the same way she does. She can see it in their faces, hear it in the words they say. She can’t help but smile around them, can’t help but join in the conversation. That shouldn’t annoy her, but somehow, it does. It’s a storm of conflicting emotions every time she steps out of her room.

Connolly starts his story over again for her benefit. It’s some stupid anecdote about a fight that happened backstage after one of his comedy shows. He delivers it perfectly, and her chuckles gradually turn to full-blown laughter. When he’s finished, Johnson says, “You’re in a good mood today. I’m glad.”

Instinctively, Justineau draws back into herself a bit, reeling in the proud display of her emotions. Still, she gives Johnson a smile.

Moments later, a breathless Astrid Barnett comes trotting in. “Sorry I’m late!” she squeals. Her voice, already quite high-pitch, always seems to catch on her syllables, becoming even higher. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, don’t worry,” Johnson says. “Caroline isn’t even here yet.”

Justineau’s eyes narrow, though she isn’t sure why at first. Then she realizes.  _ She’s _ the only one to call Caldwell by her first name. To everyone else, she’s Dr. Caldwell, or the Doc. That’s because Justineau’s the only one to see Caldwell for what she really is; a human woman, the same as everyone else. Not immortal, not smarter than everyone, not above anyone, the way she seems to think. No. But, Justineau is starting to get the feeling that Johnson sees everyone for who they really are. It’s a little unnerving. 

Her mind gradually shifts back to the present, picking up bits and pieces of the conversation. “I was just talking to Sergeant Parks,” Barnett is saying. “I got caught up, and I forgot where I was going. Happens to me all the time.”

“Sergeant Parks?” Connolly asks. “Which one is that again?”

“The man,” she says. “The tall one, with the big scar over his eye.”

Justineau chuckles. She loves that scar, always has, no matter what she told herself. It’s a little surreal to hear someone describe the man she knows so well in such an impersonal way.

“How is he?” Connolly asks.

“Oh, he’s a real gentleman,” Barnett says, suddenly standing up from the wall she was leaning against. She fiddles with the necklace she’s wearing as she continues. “We usually head to breakfast at around the same time, so naturally we started sitting together. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s a good listener.”

Justineau starts to laugh; she can’t help herself.

Barnett turns to her, confused at first. “Oh, you’re close with him, aren’t you? I completely forgot you two were at Echo together. Has he always been the same?” Justineau thinks for a moment. She doesn’t want to burst her bubble, not when the two of them seem to be getting along so well. So she just shrugs. The past is the past, after all. 

A few minutes later, Caldwell finally enters. She’s the one who called them here in the first place, so Justineau thinks it seems a little rude for her to show up so late. Plus, her entrance feels incomplete without that familiar click of the high heels, which she’s forced to go without ever since leaving Echo. Seems she’s managed to find some lipstick, at least.

“There she is!” Johnson announces. 

Caldwell stands a few paces away from the rest of them and stares at Johson warily, clearly put off by Johnson’s warm welcome. From what Justineau’s heard, she hasn’t come to any of the advertised “game nights” either, so she knows these people even less than they know each other. She looks for a place to set her clipboard down, realizes there is none, and awkwardly clings to it as she begins to speak.

“We’re just going to get a few things set up today. You’ve all been briefed on the functionality of this room, correct?” None of them say anything, so she keeps talking. “We, the teachers, will stay on this side of the divider.” The five of them turn eyes to the enormous divider brought in by the soldiers. The morning sun shining over the roof of the next-door building is fractured and crystallized by the glass. “The... children... will stay on that side. We’re going to set up desks, but they’ll be free to wander the area as they please.”

Connolly is the first to interrupt. “And after classes, where do they go?”

“The soldiers will lead them to the second apartment building. Every entrance will be properly secured so there’s no possible way for them to escape. They’ll have free reign of the building when they’re not in class.” She visibly tenses up as she says this, and Justineau can see why. A bunch of feral children running amuck in a creepy abandoned building? It’s nightmare fuel, to be sure. Justineau unironically loves the idea.

“These slits here in the glass,” Caldwell continues, running her finger over said slits, “will be used to pass them papers and books as needed. We’re going to attempt to produce a normal environment as accurately as possible. We may even be able to move them inside eventually. We’ll just have to see. And, remember, we’re only going to be keeping them here for a few months at most. Then they’re free to leave whenever they’d like. So let’s get started on moving these desks outside. We’ll need four on the other side. Put them close enough to the glass so that we can hear them, but not so close that they’ll be frightened. Let’s line a few up on this side, too. We can use it as a makeshift teacher’s desk.”

The others start to move to get to work, but Justineau doesn’t at first. She’s running over every word Caldwell said. Because something was off. Something she said didn’t line up perfectly with the mental image she has of how this is going to go. But what? She figures it out pretty quickly.

“We?”

Caldwell pauses for a moment. “Sorry?”

“When you’re talking about  _ us _ , the teachers, you’re saying  _ we _ .”

“Oh. I… Oh, yes. I forgot, there’s one more thing. I’ve decided to join you four in teaching the children. I feel I need to take a more hands-on approach to my research. I’ll never be able to fully understand the children if I don’t interact with them as often, if not more, as you do.”

“That’s wonderful!” Barnett says. “We could definitely use an extra person. The more the merrier, you know?”

Johnson shoots her a look, because she can probably tell from Justineau’s expression that something is about to happen. Justineau knows this, too, though she isn’t completely sure of what yet. There’s a lot of things brewing under her skin. What is it? What is it?

Barnett, Connolly and Johnson hurry to set up the desks, leaving Caldwell and Justineau alone.

Anger. That’s what it is. It’s anger. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she exclaims.

Caldwell hesitates. Her hand, the only one she has available, travels up to her lips in worry. “...Sorry?”

“Don’t sorry me. You’re not sorry. You’re never sorry. You seriously think that after what you’ve done, you can march in here and handle these kids? I know you think I’m an idiot, but this is a difficult job. You don’t know the half of it. You’ve only read the reports. You have no idea what they’re really like. You don’t know how smart they are… how… their humanity. You don’t know.”

“No, I don’t know. I’m not claiming to know. That’s why I need to start learning now, Helen.”

“Don’t call me Helen.”

“It’s your name.”

“I know damn well it’s my name, and you have no right to call me by it.”

Caldwell shakes her head slowly, and Justineau can see her fist balling up at her side. Her lips press together. “This isn’t the time. I’m not trying to start an argument.”

It is the time, and both of them know it. They haven’t had a true fight since they’ve arrived in Beacon, and now is as good a time as any. Justineau needs this. She needs to chip away at that facade. She needs to make Caldwell angry. She needs to get to her, to make her understand how much she’s hurting. And how much of that hurt Caldwell has caused. 

She decides to go for it. The lowest blow, the worst possible insult right off the bat. “I don’t care what you’re trying to do. Everything you try to do, you fail. And whenever you do something right, it’s ten years late.”

Justineau doesn’t know what she was expecting; it works. Caldwell comes flying at her, both verbally and physically. “ “Is that so? Well, when you find a cure to the fungal infection that wiped out most of the planet, you can come and preach to me!”

“I will! And I won't have murdered a dozen kids to do it!”

There’s a pause, a cathartic lull as Caldwell decides what to say next. It’s a tricky situation, but Justineau knows she’s got herself covered. She always does, doesn’t she?

“How else would you have suggested I did it? Were you aware of another way? No, you weren’t! Because there isn’t one! There never was! I had to do it! Sacrifices must be made! It’s that or death! Would you rather have died?”

“Maybe I would have! Maybe I would have rather died than live with the fact that you killed her! You killed her!”

“Yes, I killed her! Because she asked me to! She  _ begged  _ me to!”

“She did not beg! She was a fucking child, Caroline! She hardly understood what was going on, and you killed her!”

“...Oh, I see. I understand now. You think you’re some kind of savior! You wanted to rescue the little girl from the wicked witch! That’s it, isn’t it? Be her knight and shining armor?

Justineau is taken aback. She feels the muscles in her face relax in surprise, and her rage melts away into confusion. This isn’t the direction she expected this to go in. What’s happening?

“Well, I’m sorry to break it to you, but it’s the other way around entirely!” Caldwell continues. “You’ll never even come close to understanding her! She was a full person in her own right, and she was a thousand times smarter than you’ll ever be! She was able to comprehend her situation quicker than even I could, and she saved the world! And she did it all for you!  _ She  _ saved  _ you _ ! You just don’t want to accept it, because now you think it’s your fault she’s dead! Is that it?”

_ Is that it? _ The words echo in Justineau’s mind. Is it? She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything. Why does she even bother? None of that is true, anyway. It’s stupid. She was a child. She was… a child. And now Caldwell’s saying it out loud. She was a child who sacrificed herself. Did she? For her? Why?”

Her vision blurry, Justineau looks past the glass. The three teachers are standing dumbfounded in the middle of carrying their desks, taken in by their shouting match. Justineau doesn’t care. She feels hot tears trickling down her face. She needs to get out of here. She storms past Caldwell and is off.

“Helen! Helen, wait!” she hears from behind her.

No. To hell with Caroline Caldwell. To hell with the desks. To hell with everything.


	36. Chapter 36

Caroline Caldwell has been awake all night. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor across from the children’s cells, furiously scribbling notes every time one of them moves a muscle. This is the last night before they’re permanently transferred to their new home in the apartment building. Once they’re there, the only time she’ll have a chance to see them is during class, so she needs to get as much information as she can.

The littlest boy has been playing with all the new toys they’ve put into his cell. He babbles to himself quite a bit. When he was brought in, he was completely naked. He’s put on the T-shirt he’s been given but has neglected his pants.

The younger girl is by far the rowdiest. She’s standing a lot of the time, though she isn’t throwing a bit. She’s braided and unbraided her hair about a thousand times, making bracelets out of rope, and vocalizing in what almost sounds like a song.

The older boy is still, usually. He doesn’t sleep much, but he seems to prefer to sit on his bed. He might flip through one of the picture books he’s been given, but that’s about it. And out of the four of them, he eats the least. Only about half of his bowl of meat and insects.

Caldwell is fascinated by the oldest girl. She’s the oldest second-generation hungry she’s ever seen. From a distance she could be a regular teenager. She always looks to be deep in thought. Interestingly, she’s drawn a few pictures using the colored pens she’s been given. They’re completely unintelligible, but still. Caldwell suspects she learned how to do this from the chalk she had when she was living on the streets.

Caldwell wraps up her notes. There’s nothing more to say, really, not before any interaction has occurred. She knows she’s just procrastinating; she dreads going to sleep every night. As always, she’ll be plagued by nightmares and wake up feeling even more tired than she had been before. It’s always the same. She’ll be wandering a black expanse, empty except for the body parts of children scattered about. There’s a droning sound in the background. On and on for hours, and if she tries to lay down and sleep within the dream, she wakes up in an even bigger void. And she’s not willing to examine what the dream means. It’s tiresome.

Maybe, she thinks, the dreams will be different tonight. Today she’s feeling a strange sensation, one she hasn’t felt in years. One could call it guilt. Or regret, maybe. All she knows is that she shouldn’t have done it. She shouldn’t have screamed at Helen Justineau the way she did.

First of all, it’s unprofessional. It’s absolutely vital that the two of them learn to work alongside each other efficiently. That’s the only way this programme will succeed. It doesn’t matter what they personally feel about each other. Those biases must be put aside. Caldwell has always prided herself in her ability to do that, but somehow, she can’t. She can’t do it with Justineau. There’s something about the things she says that push every single one of her buttons. It feels like her layers are being painfully stripped away to expose her vulnerable core. Not even Caldwell herself is allowed to see that part of her. No one is. And especially not Helen Justineau. 

It’s so aggravating, Caldwell thinks as she begins to pack up. The two of them reached a silent agreement that it would be best for Justineau to participate in this, yet neither of them can seem to honor this truce. Caldwell allows herself a quick, vindictive thought: Maybe it would have been better if Justineau had been exposed. And shot, probably. Then all of her problems would go away.

No. No, she’s not thinking like that any longer. She can at least work to honor the promise she made to herself. She needs to pursue the absolute truth at all times. No point hiding from it. 


	37. Chapter 37

Kyra Johnson sits perched on the arm of a chair in the rec room. Jim Connolly and Sergeant Thomas are talking about something, and she’s sitting near them because Thomas is there and of course she’s going to sit near her, even if she doesn’t care what they’re talking about. She’s too engrossed in thought to listen. She’s thinking, and she can’t help thinking, even when it leads to something bad. Astrid Barnett comes over with Sergeant Parks then, and she decides it’s time to say something. “Haven’t you noticed anything about Helen and Caroline?”

Parks bursts into laughter and scratches at the stubble on his chin. He’s silent for a moment before he realizes she’s not joking. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t mean about them separately. It’s no secret that they’re both exceptional people. Incredibly mysterious… there’s something about those two, even when they’re apart. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Sure I would. But when you get to know them as well as I do, they’re not so mysterious. Well, maybe the Doc. But not Helen… actually, maybe her too. It’s like you said. There’s something about ‘em.” He sits down on the floor in front of her, and Barnett takes her place on the chair next to Johnson. Whenever Johnson speaks, everyone gathers around. They can’t help it, she supposes. She doesn’t mean to say such cryptic things, she really doesn’t. But she can’t help it. 

“They never come here,” Barnett says. “The rec room, I mean. Or anywhere but meals. I swear I never see them. I don’t know anything about them. The most I’ve seen is that argument the other day.”

“Argument?” Parks questions, brows furrowed.

“Argument is a mild word,” Johnson chuckles. “They were screaming at each other. In the classroom, when we were setting up the desks. About…”

“Someone,” Connolly cuts in. “I was guessing that little girl from Echo. You knew her, Parks, right? Says Dr. Caldwell killed her. Experimented on her?”

Parks nods, still largely desensitized to what had happened, Johnson assumes. “Melanie. Test subject number one. Caldwell made the first cure from her. Real smart kid. Helen was like her mom. And I was… well, her absence is sorely felt, that’s all I’ll say about it.”

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” Barnett says. “That sounds terrible.” Eddie? First name basis already? These two seem to get along well. Interesting, Johnson thinks. 

“It’s alright. Well, what did you mean before, Kyra? When you said there was something strange about them.” Parks asks, clearly steering the discussion somewhere else. 

“Oh, you see, I meant the two of them together. There’s something there, isn’t there? Something that runs deep. Something… festering.”

“For sure,” Parks agrees. “I mean, they've hated each other for half a decade now. Helen’s told me about the times at Echo where the Doc would call her into the lab, threaten her… and I’ve seen worse myself.”

“Like what, if you don’t mind me asking? They’ve never laid hands on each other, have they? They don’t seem like the type.”

Parks laughs again. “You don’t know the half of it. I mean, let’s see…” (He starts counting on his fingers) “the Doc pepper sprayed Helen. That was just before the junker attack, when Helen was trying to stop her from operating on Melanie. And Helen decked her in the face later that same day, after we got the hell out of there. That was the best one. Got a nosebleed and everything, it was insane.”

Johnson is surprised. She makes a mental note. Even more unresolved anger and tension that she thought. “That’s interesting. And that’s all?”

“Well, there’s little things here and there. On Rosie, the Doc wouldn’t leave the room, so Helen picked her up and put her down somewhere else. The sepsis was bad then, so she couldn’t fight back much, but I doubt she would have even if she could.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I mean, if she had actually been angry, we would have known it. When she doesn’t like something she’ll let you know. Trust me on that.”

“That’s funny,” Barnett says. “See, I wouldn’t have guessed that. She seems so guarded. Like you said, Kyra, she’s really interesting. I should talk to her more. I think she’s a genius, probably. Super high IQ?”

“I don’t know,” Connolly says. “Not when she didn’t even make it onto the backups for Rosie.”

Parks winces. “Don’t bring that up around her,” he advises. “That’s a real sour spot.”

Connolly chuckles. “Got it, Sarge.”

“Very interesting,” Johnson says, rubbing her chin. “Really, it is. I’ve gotten Helen to open up a bit, but not much. Not Caroline, though. Not her. I don’t know if I’m ever going to.”

“What, are you psychoanalyzing them?” Sergeant Thomas chuckles. Johnson’s heart skips a beat, but she takes care not to let it show. It’s the first time she’s weighed in on this discussion. Johnson knows by now it’s not really her forte. She likes concrete conversations, none of the theoretical stuff. Or maybe she’s wrong, and maybe she’s just quiet.

“I suppose so. I can’t help it. It’s just what I do. So, Sergeant,” she continues, turning to Parks, “you really think they hate each other?”

“Pretty sure of it. I mean, I can’t read their mind but… you saw their argument, didn’t you? They despise each other.”

“I don’t know. Just the way from the way they spoke, I felt like… don’t you feel like there’s something… more? Something deeper than a difference in opinion, or even morals?”

They’re all silent for a moment, thinking to themselves. Private Vaughn and Holland are playing pool just a few feet away, and they glance over noticing the lull in the conversation. “I think you lost me, Miss,” Parks says.

“Me too,” says Barnett.

Sergeant Thomas looks like she’s still thinking. “Something deeper? You mean…”

“Never mind. Oh, it’s nothing, probably.” 

But it’s not nothing, and she knows it. She waits for the others to go back to doing their own things and continues thinking. Johnson has always been intensely interested in the way people’s minds work, and she’s sensing something incredibly deep and complex here. Then and there, she decides she’s going to probe at this a bit, just to see what might happen. Who knows? It might be something beautiful waiting to bloom.


	38. Chapter 38

As Nell Grant walks to the front of the canteen, Sergeant Parks tries to stop himself from glancing up. He already knows what she’s going to say, as the soldiers were briefed on it a couple days ago. He’s come to terms with it already. Not that it’s really a bad thing, but it’s still something that he needed to think over for a while. He suspects it was the same for Private Gallagher. All those memories… and it was only a month ago that they were there, wasn’t it? It’s a strange feeling.

Grant’s voice, shrill at first, rings throughout the room. “Hello, everyone! Thank you all for showing up at the posted time. I have an announcement to make.”

_ Just get to it,  _ Parks thinks, taking a bite of his toast.  _ No point leading them on.  _ Gallagher glances at him warily, and he makes a point of softening his expression.

“Tomorrow we’re going to be sending a retrieval mission to Hotel Echo. All soldiers are required to attend, and all previous Echo personnel are requested to come along. You’ll be able to retrieve anything you left there. We’re going to attempt to take the place back from the junkers, but we don’t know how successful this will be. Still, we’re going to try. If you’re coming, please meet us outside of the hotel at 4 o’clock tomorrow. You’ll be airlifted.”

Chatter breaks out around the room. From the teacher’s and scientist’s tables, mostly, since the soldiers already knew about this. Parks’ eyes are drawn first to the scientists, where Caldwell obviously sits. Her face, before plagued with lines and dark circles, has broken into a smile. Of course she’d be elated. She left half a decade’s worth of research behind when the base was invaded. He remembers Justineau telling him that she was even trying to scoop up some paperwork in the middle of the attack. That’s painfully on brand for her, and he almost laughs out loud to remember it. 

His eyes shift then to Helen Justineau, who sits with the other three teachers. Her back is turned to him, so he can’t see her reaction at first. When she stands up to refill her bottle, though, her expression is completely unreadable. It could be sadness, maybe, or just complete indifference. 

“Are you excited to go back, Sarge?” Dean asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Of course he’s not,” Private Liz Vaugh cuts in bitterly. “You think he wants to see that mess again? That place was a complete disaster.”

Parks chuckles, surprising the other soldiers. “You’re not wrong,” he says. “But there’s some things I want to grab. And I want to stick it to those bastards. The junkers, I mean.”

Gallagher nods. He was nearly murdered by them, so surely he’d feel the same, even if he doesn’t seem like a particularly vengeful guy.

“Personally, I’m looking forward to seeing how things are over there. I remember when the base was first being set up. That was during Brigadier Fry’s little coup, remember that?” Sergeant Thomas says.

Parks nods slowly. That seems so long ago now, when he was a soldier in Beacon, and Charles Darwin and Rosalind Franklin were just being sent out into the world. The privates were probably only kids, then. Gallagher still trapped with his dad. Not a good time for anyone. Especially not for Caldwell.

“I wonder whatever happened to Carlisle and the others,” Thomas continues. 

Parks shrugs, because he knows what happened. Obviously, they’re dead. Nothing else could be the case. He’d always respected Carlisle, though. Now Poole has taken his place despite his lower rank, the same as McQueen’s, and he’s a lot less controversial. Parks remembers Kat Foss and her friend… what was her name… the most of all of them. That’s because he used to have a thing for her, as the two of them were around the same age then. And that one private, Phillips, he thinks, reminds him a bit of Gallagher. 

He shakes his head to bring himself back to the present moment. No point dwelling over the past like that. Now he’s surrounded by people he respects, and by God, he’s going to honor that. 


	39. Chapter 39

The tense small talk between the five teacher’s is abruptly cut off when Astrid Barnett sees the door on the other side of the class swing open. She gestures toward it with her head, and Jim Connolly pauses his anecdote mid-sentence.  _ Here it comes _ , thinks Justineau. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the kids while they were in their cells, so she has no idea what she’s walking into. Ages, genders, amount, nothing, 

Sergeant Parks comes in first. He’s not holding any of the kids. There’s a gun at his side, but he’s letting it hang loosely. From the way he walks, Justineau can tell he’s much more comfortable than he had ever been at Echo. It’s ironic; he used to proclaim he would never let his guard down around someone like Melanie, and she was the one to open him up to her entire species. He waves at her, and she waves back.

Now here come the privates. Gallagher isn’t here. It’s Liz Vaughn, a boy whose name she forgot, and Isaac Burns. It doesn’t seem as if the kids have been dragged in. Vaughn has her hands lightly placed on the shoulders on a very young boy and a slightly older boy. Burns is walking very close beside a preteen girl. The oldest girl walks on her own, behind the rest of the crowd. The leashes, all held by the other boy, are loose at his side. The hungries aren’t trying to run. They don’t even seem particularly distressed. That’s a good sign, Justineau supposes.

The soldiers march out, leaving teachers and students all along. The kids crowd to the very edge of the courtyard, as far away from the adult as they can possibly get. They chatter among themselves, barely audible. Justineau and Barnett exchange a quick glance. Caroline Caldwell takes a deep breath next to them.

Naturally, Kyra Johnson is the first to make a move. She takes a step towards one of the dinky little microphones that have been hooked up to loudspeakers all throughout the courtyard and brings it to her lips. “Good morning, class,” she says brightly. Or as brightly as she can in the present situation.

Eerily, the children’s heads snap in her direction. They look around them, confused as to how the sound is coming from everywhere at once. “Don’t be afraid,” Johnson continues. “Those are called speakers. We just want you to be able to hear us better, that’s all. This wall is here so neither of us can touch each other, but you can see us. Look.” She knocks on the glass. “It won’t hurt you.”

The younger girl breaks off from the group and takes a few steps forward. Her hair is done up in many twists, and it looks like she’s done it herself. Suddenly, she breaks into a run towards the glass. Barnett is the only one to flinch, though Justineau has to prevent herself from doing so. 

The girl stops short of slamming into the glass, but she deliberately bangs her fist on it a few times. A taunt, maybe? Justineau steps forward and taps on the glass where the girl’s hand had been. She smiles; a show of alliance, of respect. The girl seems to consider this for a moment, then takes a few steps back. She turns back towards her friends, as if signaling that it’s okay to come forward. 

The littlest boy comes first, skipping along on his skinny legs. He’s barely a child, almost a toddler, though he might just seem tinier out of malnourishment. He seems to have no hesitations at all, and plops himself down on the grass right in front of them. His grey eyes are wide and curious. Justineau senses Caldwell approaching him and has to stop herself from scolding her.  _ Don’t you dare touch him, _ she thinks.  _ Don’t you dare hurt him. _

Obviously, she doesn’t. She kneels down, bringing herself to his eye level. She doesn’t speak, and she doesn’t smile. The two of them stare at each other while the others watch. Justineau figures she’s busy taking notes in her head, so she herself steps forward to take the mic. “You two, in the corner,” she says, “come on up with your friends. We won’t hurt you. We have something fun to do today.”

The older girl, nearly a teenager, and the preteen boy converse with each other, backs turned to the others. Eventually, they drag their feet along, meeting their counterparts halfway by the desks. 

Connolly speaks now. “So, what we’re going to do today is learn each other’s names.” He speaks slowly, with his slight American accent that the others slowly noticed. Still, he sounds friendly and personable. The kids look at him, intrigued. “We need to know what to call each other. And we want to get to know you as well as we can. We’re going to be friends for a little while. Is that okay?”

None of them speak, of course, or even nod. They probably don’t understand the concept of a question, and they probably don’t know what anyone is saying at all. But they’ll learn fast. Justineau knows that from experience. They’ll be saying yes and no by the end of next week.

“You’re going to have five teachers. One, two, three, four, five.” He points to each of them in turn. “My name is Mr. Connolly. You can call me Mr. C.”

Johnson takes her mic then. “Let’s all say ‘Hello, Mr. C.’” She waves her hand in the air, demonstrating a handshake. “Hello, Mr. C.”

The class doesn’t repeat after her, but they all attempt to mimic her wave. Justineau can’t help but smile. It’s all rushing back. The good parts of teaching. The fun parts, the happy parts, the adorable parts. She remembers why she used to love it so much. Why she still does. Look at them, sitting there and flapping their hands around. They have no reason to be trying their best. They’ve essentially been kidnapped, but here they are, waving. 

Johnson introduces herself next. “You can call me Miss Kyra,” she says.

Justineau volunteers to help out. “Hello, Miss Kyra,” she echoes into her mic, waving again at the class. The class waves back, and she beams with pleasure. “My name is Miss Justineau, but you can call me Miss J, if you’d like.”

There’s an awkward pause, and neither Caldwell nor Barnett step up to fill it. Barnett is cowering near the wall, and Caldwell is still crouched down to the children’s level. They’ve been staring at her this entire time, Justineua notices now. She nudges her with her foot and indicates the mic. Evidently caught off guard, Caldwell hops up and takes her place. She forgets to say hello. “I’m Dr. Caldwell,” she says. The class stares. “Hello,” she amends. Without any queue to do so this time, they wave. Tentatively, she waves back.

The younger girl knocks on the window. When Caldwell looks at her, she begins to rub one of her arms. Then she tilts her head inquisitively. The adults are silent for a moment, trying to interpret what she means. Johnson gets it first. “Her arm got hurt, so the doctors had to take it off.”

The girl looks surprised. She makes a chopping motion with her hand onto her arm, then lets it lay limp on the floor. “That’s right,” Caldwell says. “It’s gone now. But I can still do most things with only one arm.”

As she speaks, the oldest girl starts to approach the glass, very slowly. She sits herself down next to the youngest boy and makes herself comfortable, not taking her eyes off the adults. After a moment, her arm shoots out. She’s pointing at Barnett, who’s still pressed against the wall.

Barnett is looking a little worse for wear. All of the color has drained out of her face, and she’s trembling. “Are you okay?” Justineau mouths.

She nods silently and begins to approach the microphone. Her voice quivers, but she manages to speak. “My name is… Miss Barnett. It’s nice to meet you all.” The kids, sensing her nervousness, don’t wave, they just study her apprehensively. 

The teachers all remember what they’re supposed to do next, but it seems silly now that they’re standing here in front of these children. Connolly is the one to step up. “Now, we’re going to learn your names. And if you don’t have a name, you can pick one, and that’s what we’ll call you by. So… you, on the end. Do you have a name?”

Obviously, the little boy just sits there, staring up at him with wide eyes. Certainly he doesn’t have a name. He probably doesn’t even know what a name is.

“Does anybody have a name? Yes…” (He nods and gives a thumbs up) “or no,” (He shakes his head and gives a thumbs down). One by one, the kids slowly shake their heads. “That’s okay. We’re going to give you some.”

That’s Justineau’s cue. She’s the one who came up with the names. She requested to, actually, and she had sat on her bed writing them on little index cards she’d found in the laboratory. Four cards for four kids. Two boy’s names and two girl’s, but they’re farily androgynous so it really doesn’t matter which ones they choose. She pulls the yellow cards out of her pocket and hands them to Connolly, who slides them through one of the slits in the glass. The children lean backwards a bit, as if they’re afraid the little pieces of paper will turn into missiles and launch straight at them. But once they scatter on the floor, the children run to pick them up.

When they’re sitting back in their line, the younger girl has two, and the younger boy has none. Justineau is the first to notice. “Hey,” she says, pointing at the younger girl (she doesn’t like doing that. She’s looking forward to them having names) “hand one of your cards to your friend, please.” The girl frowns, but she does. The oldest girl looks pleased, and she makes eye contact with Justineau. “We’ll go down the line. You first,” she says, gesturing to her. The girl looks around, confused, but gets it when Jusinteau waves her hand for her to approach. Hesitantly, she does. 

“Can you show me your card, please?” She taps the glass where the card hangs at the girl’s side. She stares at it for a moment, probably trying to decipher the meaning of the strange symbols called letters. Then she holds it up. “Carmen.” She reads it slowly to the girl. “Carmen. Can you say that?” The girl tilts her head, and Justineau repeats it even more slowly, making sure to emphasize the movements of her lips.

“Cah man,” the girl says.

“That’s wonderful.” Justineau can’t help but smile. “That’s you, Carmen.” She points at Carmen, and Carmen points at herself before scampering off to sit back down.

Without being asked, the other girl jumps out and presses her card against the class, pointing at herself frantically. Justineau steps back, giving the other teachers a chance to feel that little bubbling of joy one gets when a child speaks their name for the first time. Connolly takes the girl, Johnson takes the youngest boy, and Barnett takes the quiet boy. The teachers read the names to the children, and the children try to repeat them. It’s a bizarre exercise, one that would never happen with human children this age. But it’s wonderful. It’s beautiful.

Justineau glances at Caldwell, the only one who’s not been one-on-one with a student so far. She’s too busy studying the children intensely to move, it seems. Justineau can’t help but break that concentration. “Why don’t you try talking to the older girl? Maybe see if you can get her to say anything else.”

Caldwell blinks a few times, clearly having been ripped out of her internal world. She nods and steps towards the glass, arms crossed over her chest tightly. She’s still wearing that hideous lab coat. Of course she is. She hardly ever takes it off. Justineau watches her carefully. She can’t get to the children through the glass, obviously, and maybe Justineau is being paranoid for thinking she’d hurt them in the first place. But she can’t help it. At this point, it’s a second instinct to be wary of what Caroline Caldwell might do. Parks and Gallagher probably understand that feeling.

“Carmen,” she calls, waving the girl over. The other teachers kneel or sit in front of their kids, but she stands. She gets the hint once Carmen sits in front of her, resolutely cross-legged. 

“Cah men,” the girl says. It’s the only word she knows how to say, and she’s already improving a bit. 

“That’s correct. That’s you. Do you remember my name?”

Carmen nods slowly, looking as if she’s thinking very hard. “Ca…” She trails off, but it’s impressive nonetheless. Justineau can see that Caldwell thinks the same.

“Excellent. That’s right. Caldwell. Can you say that? Cald… well.”

“Coll.. well.”

“Very good.” There’s an awkward pause as Caldwell tries to think of what to say next. “Do you know how old you are? How many years have you been alive?”

The girl’s thick, dark eyebrows furrow, and she shakes her head.

“That’s alright. It looks as if you’re fifteen or sixteen. You’re the oldest child here.”

Carmen nods energetically, as if she completely understands. Maybe she does. The hungry kids operate as a pack, after all, with the older ones taking care of the younger ones. And the size difference is apparent enough on its own.

The other teachers finish up. The names have been assigned. The littlest boy is Frankie (Fankie, as he says.) The older boy is Reed, but he wouldn’t speak at all, and the other girl is Charlie (Shahrie, which she repeated with much enthusiasm). The teachers have already decided not to start actual instruction until tomorrow, so the rest of the class period will be spent talking to the children. Johnson and Conolly stand just near the class, Justineau and Barnett sit on the desks in the back, and Caldwell leans against the wall. 

“Let’s have a talk,” Johnson begins. “I know the four of you are probably very confused, and a little scared. You’ve done remarkably well today for the situation you’re in. I’m sure you already know that you’re different. You’re not like a lot of other children because you need to eat things that are alive. There’s a lot of kids like you out there, but we didn’t know about you for a long time. You’re very special, and you’re very important to us. Your parents caught a disease that made them have to eat, like you, but they couldn’t speak, or play games, or have friends like you do. When you were born, you became a new kind of person. The problem is, that kind of person is the kind that wants to eat us. There used to be billions of people in this world, but when your parents were infected, things fell apart. That’s why we were hoping that you would be our friends, and there could be peace between our two types of people. That way we’ll never have to hurt each other, and we can live together.”

There’s no way to gauge how much the children are understanding her, but whether they do or not, they seem deeply affected. They watch her with full, unblinking eyes, not uttering a single sound. Justineau hops up from the desk and takes hold on the microphone, suddenly inspired to continue the speech. 

“We had to bring you here to teach you. We want you to be able to speak to us. When you leave here, you’ll be able to teach all of your friends, and you can visit us whenever you’d like. That way we’ll all understand each other, and nobody has to be afraid of anybody anymore.”

“Like Miss J said,” Connolly continues, “we’re not going to keep you here forever. Just for a month or two, and then you can go wherever you want. Or you can stay here, or you can switch between places whenever you feel like it. That reminds me, after class, you’re going to have a big building all to yourself. You’ll have your own rooms and all the food you want. Does that sound good?” He gives them a thumbs up again, and Frankie and Carmen attempt to do it back. 

“One more thing that I can think of,” Justineau continues. “I bet you’re curious as to why Dr. Caldwell had you on those tables and what she was doing, so maybe she can explain.”

Caldwell glares at her almost imperceptibly before taking the mic. “You see, Miss Kyra was correct when she said that your parents were infected. They were infected by a fungus called ophiocordyceps that made them need to eat, the same way you do. But it’s quite sad for them, as those people had a life and a family before. You children have a special part of your brain that can turn those people back to how they were before. I needed to extract that part to make into medicine for them, but I won’t have to do it again.”

Reed brings his hand to his head and makes a sawing motion. 

“Yes,” Caldwell says. “Your brain is in your head. We took a tiny little part out and stitched it back up. It will be fully healed in no time.” 

That answer seems to placate him, and his arm falls back onto his lap.

“You’ll still have checkups with me every week,” Caldwell says, “so I can see how you’re doing.” Justineau hadn’t been aware of that, but she decides not to argue. Not now, when things are already going so well. 

Nobody has anything else to say, so they decide to end the lesson a little early, since it wasn’t really a lesson in the first place. This was just the orientation day to get the children used to the idea of being in a classroom. It’s gone incredibly well, Justineau thinks, but she’s not surprised. She knows from experience how smart these kids can be, and how quickly they learn. And how kind they are, how understanding, even back at Echo when they knew next to nothing about where they came from, or what was going on outside the fence. 

Connolly hops on the walkie-talkie to call for the soldiers, and they file in shortly after. Gallagher’s here this time, and Justineau smiles at him. He smiles back, his face reddening a bit as he goes to lead the children to their new home. The teachers watch in silence until everyone is out of the room. They then let out a collective breath of air.

“That went incredibly well,” Johnson exclaims. “Already speaking on the first day! Can you believe it?”

“They’ll be saying a lot more than that by the end of next week,” Justineau says. Caldwell nods her agreement. 

“Hey, where’s Astrid?” Connolly asks. To their surprise, the woman has already taken off. She’d better pull herself together, Justineau thinks, or else she’ll probably be sent back. They all shrug it off.

The four of them chat for a few minutes longer until Connolly and Johnson take off. The two of them had been so nervous that they hadn’t eaten this morning, so they were starving. That left Justineau and Caldwell standing alone. There’s silence until Caldwell says “You came up with those names, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

Caldwell nods slowly. She’s still leaning against the wall, but she uncrosses her arms. With only 1 and a half arms she still finds a way to cross them, Justineau thinks. “Echo tomorrow,” she says suddenly. “You have a lot of papers to grab?”

“Hundreds. And you?”

Justineau shrugs. There’s a few things she’s dying to get her hands on, but she’s not going to admit any of them to Caldwell right now. “Those bastard junkers,” she grumbles. “I wonder… I wonder what we’ll find there.”

“Surely Mailer, Whitaker and the others are dead. And the soldiers. Some could have escaped, but I doubt it.”

“That’s not what I meant. You saw what happened to Selkirk.” Both of them wince. “I meant the children.”

“I’m willing to bet they’ve made their way out by now.”

“How can you be sure?”

Now it’s Caldwell’s turn to shrug. They’re both thinking of her. Melanie. She’s the one who showed them the lengths her kind are willing to go to.

This is the first time the two of them have spoken without getting into an argument in months, so Justineau decides to cut it short. She nods at Caldwell before turning to go, but Caldwell says “Wait. Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.” She was going to go to her room and lie on her bed staring at the ceiling, like she usually does, but she doesn’t want to say that out loud.

“Have you gone to the rec room in the soldier’s building yet?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither. I’m going to go now.”

“Alright. Have fun.” She walks off, leaving Caldwell standing there alone, looking a bit forlorn.


	40. Chapter 40

The day of the reckoning; the return to Echo. Sergeant Parks can hardly believe it. He’s only been a part of this program for a few weeks, but he can hardly remember anything before it. He may as well have been here his entire life. That would have been a happier life than the lousy one he had.

Astrid Barnett is chewing on her nails. “You’ll be careful, right?”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “I told you I would. Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help it. I mean, the place is infested with junkers. And hungries. It’s gonna be dangerous.”

“I know. I know that. Don’t worry,” he repeats. He won’t admit it, but he likes Barnett. He likes her a whole lot. She talks just the right amount and smiles just the right amount. She’s tiny, sure, and that’s never really been his type before, but he doesn’t care. It’s not a type he’s looking for. He’s not really looking for anyone at all. She just happened to come along, the same way Helen Justineau did. And he still likes Justineau, but it’s deeper now. She kissed him on the cheek once and that was the end of it. He loves her, but it’s not like that any longer.

The helicopter lands in the parking lot in front of Hotel Riot. It’s as good a landing pad as any. Gallagher’s by his side already along with the rest of his soldiers, and they stand waiting for Justineau and Caldwell. When they do, they walk as far apart as they can. Justineau doesn’t look like she’s in a hurry, but Caldwell attempts a jog and arrives first. She stands next to him and looks up at the whirlwind of blades above them. “You’ve been airlifted before, haven’t you?”

She nods. She looks a little pale. Sergeant Thomas gestures her over, and she climbs inside. There go Thomas’ kids, and he waves Gallagher and the others on, too. Justineau finally reaches him. She smiles at him. It’s real, and it’s genuine. He feels a rush of relief. He thought maybe she wouldn’t even show up. “Excited to see it again?”

“Yes. Feels a little like going home, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. He hasn’t called anywhere home since before the Breakdown. He doesn’t want to get attached to any place or any person, and he’s already done the latter, so the former is all he has left. He and Justineau climb on. He figures soldiers will sit in the back and civilians in the front, but there’s a whole lot of soldiers and only two civilians, so they sit wherever they'd like. Parks ends up in front with his two girls, Gallagher and his buddy Burns, and Thomas. The rest of the privates sit in the back. There’s a bit of small talk but not much, and the helicopter slowly rises into the air. He wonders who’s driving it, and if they have a license from before the Breakdown, even though they probably don’t. 

They pick up speed, and they’re off. He’s next to the window along with Justineau, and they both stare out, transfixed by the moving environments below. The minutes fly by like seconds, and soon they’re out of Beacon altogether, moving over the destroyed wasteland that is now the Earth. Long roads with destroyed cars littered throughout them. And hungries, of course. There’s only a few stray ones here until they get into the city, and then there’s hundreds. They stand still, in silent packs, and Parks shivers to remember being so close among them, and he thinks that the last time he was here, Melanie was still alive. 

London them by in a blur, and soon enough they’re back at Stevenage. Parks and Justineau crane their necks, looking for Wainwright House, but either they’re not near it or they’re moving too fast to see it. They glance at each other, knowing they’re both sharing the same thought.

It took them four days to walk to London, and it’s taken them less than an hour to get all the way back. They almost died countless times. They suffered, they cried, and now the four of them are a pack. And if they had been in a helicopter it would have taken forty-five minutes. 

Parks absolutely hates thinking about that, so he turns away from the window and looks at the other people in the plane with him. Gallagher and Burns are chatting quietly, and so are Thomas and Justineau, though they’re sitting on opposite seats diagonally. He and Caldwell are the only silent ones, and he can see why. Her legs are pulled up to her stomach, and her only hand covers her mouth. Weak stomach, he guesses. “Hey, Doc. We can switch places if you’d like. The window is better if you’re nauseous.”

She shakes her head and says “I’m fine,” but her voice comes out in a groan.

“Suit yourself.”

Justineau looks at her then, and Parks can tell she’s thinking very hard. He remembers when Johnson said about the two of them.  _ There’s something about them. Something deeper. _ He shakes the thought out of his head, because he doesn’t even know what it means, and the last thing he’d want to do is poke his head into someone else’s business. 

They arrive before he knows it. There it is, in the distance, all the buildings he remembers. Of course, they can’t get up close right away, as the place is still infested with junkers, like Barnett said. As the helicopter lands, it’s time for the plan to be put into action.


	41. Chapter 41

As soon as his feet hit solid ground, Gallagher freezes. He’s remembering what happened right here with the junkers, when he accidentally blew that guy’s head off. That’s what led to all of this, so technically it’s his fault. Well, maybe not. Maybe the raid was bound to happen eventually, and it’s probably better for that programme to be over and for this one to be happening. So maybe it’s good that he killed that guy. Who knows, and who cares, because he’s got other things to be thinking about. 

Sergeant Thomas and Privates Vaughn, Holland the other three whose names he always forgets take off. It’s their job to distract the junkers and take some out if they can. They have some rudimentary hungry bombs that Caldwell’s team has been working on, some regular bombs, and quite a few firearms. They disappear into the bushes while the others wait.

“Now that I’m thinking about it, this doesn’t seem like the greatest plan,” Burns says.

“You can say that again,” Gallagher replies. 

It’s a few minutes before they hear the first bomb go off. That’s their cue. Parks, his privates and the civilians go rushing in. They come to the toppled fence soon enough. Looks like the junkers haven’t bothered to put it back up. Parks is in the front, and everyone follows his lead as discussed. He makes a beeline for the soldier’s quarters. There aren’t any junkers over here at the moment, but around the corner of a building Gallagher can see guns firing, and black-painted men with their full body suits roving about. He’ll never get used to seeing that; he has to prevent himself from taking off.

Soon, the six of them are crowded in the narrow space that used to be the soldier’s rooms. Seems as though the bodies have been cleared up, but there’s quite a few bloodstains on the beds, so it looks like the junkers don’t sleep in here at all. Gallagher makes a move for his bed and is surprised to see Dean, Owens and Burns following after him. “What are you doing? Go grab some stuff.”

“We don’t know what to grab,” Owens says, staring at his bed. 

“I don’t know. Any food, anything that looks interesting. One of the guys had a radio, try looking for that.”

The three of them nod and start digging around. Justineau and Caldwell are standing near the doorway, looking a little uncomfortable. Gallagher goes for it and starts collecting everything he needs from his bed. His favorite flashlight, his bag, his comb, this cool keychain, and… well, he can’t take  _ that  _ without everyone seeing. 

But oh, God, here comes Owen shoving right past him and digging around on his bed. “Hey, uh… what are you doing?”

“Looking. You said to look.”

“That’s my bed, though. I can get my own stuff.”

But Owen looks resolute, and Gallagher’s heart pounds, because it’s not hidden very well and oh, God, he’s picking up the pillow and there it is. His… magazine. Owens immediately bursts into laughter and picks it up by the corner, dangling it for all to see. “What’s this? What  _ is  _ this?”

“Kieran!” Dean shrieks with a grin. “Really, Kieran?” Burns is laughing too now. Gallagher closes his eyes as his face burns so hotly he feels like he’s about to pass out.

“Whatever you’re doing, cut it out,” Parks says, but then he looks over and sees what Burns is holding and starts laughing. He gathers what he needs and starts to lead them out. 

“I don’t know why that’s there,” Gallagher mumbles, but he knows it sounds stupid. He can’t deny it’s his bed; he just said it was. He lets everyone go in front of him, too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye, but it seems the civilians want to be in the back, too. Justineau’s chucking, and even Caldwell has a slight smirk.

As they make their way towards the Block, Justineau says “I can’t believe you, Private. You had that with you the whole time and you never showed me? I’m sure Caroline would have loved to see, too.”

“Oh, shut up,” Caldwell says, but she doesn’t really look mad.

Despite his embarrassment, Gallagher finds it in him to laugh. 

The Block is deserted, but it’s clearly been lived in. Trash is strewn all over the floor, as well as the junker’s strange uniforms. They’re just busy outside fighting off Thomas and her people. The soldiers escort Caldwell to the lab, and Justineau says she’s going to pop into the classroom to grab a couple things. “You be careful,” Parks tells her, and Gallagher agrees. She assures them she will be, but Gallagher thinks that’s not really up to her. At least he’s right nearby.

The moment they step into the lab, Caldwell flies into action. She’s piling papers into her one available hand at an incredible pace. “What can we do, Doc?”

“Hold these as I hand them to you, and be quiet.” The soldiers quickly rush to assist her, following her around a few feet away at all times. She starts with the counters, scooping up around half of her paperwork, only the things she deems important. It’s still a lot, and their arms fill up quickly. Gallagher starts shoving some into his bag, but she tells him to be careful with them. Then she moves onto the floor. The papers here are covered in bloody footprints and dirt, but she takes them anyway. That takes her quite a few minutes due to the missing arm and all. “That’s all,” she finally says, standing up. “Now I just need to collect the relevant samples. I’ve brought storage bags.” They’re ziploc bags, but it works all the same. She strafes around the countertops, picking out tiny pieces of brain matter here and there. Gallagher can’t figure out any pattern to it, and he’s fascinated watching her. The doctor is in, she thinks. He notices how her lips puff out a bit in complete focus. Then she hands the bags to them.

“And we’ll just load these up?” Parks says.

“Yes.”

“You’re coming.”

“I’d appreciate a few minutes.”

He nods and gestures for the soldiers to head out. She’s probably got some personal things she wants to grab, and they don’t want the same thing to happen that just happened with him (though he doubts she has a stash of porn mags too). He can’t help it; he lingers at the door for just a moment, mostly hidden, and she doesn’t seem to notice. He watches her as she kneels and pulls something out from under one of the counters. High heels. Then she opens a random drawer and pulls out a few sticks of red lipstick. He can’t help but smile. Some things never change, he thinks.


End file.
